Cradle
by T'eyla Minh
Summary: Ch. 30 up! COMPLETE! Final A/N also up. Post-'Grave' B/S-centric. Spike, besouled, and Buffy try to work things out. Willow is dying, and Xander's stuck with trying to help. Anya's distanced herself from everyone. And then, there's the Big Bad...
1. Chapter One

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CRADLE

(Provisional Title)

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SUMMARY: A post-season-6 fic. Let's see… Spike has a soul, and he's in Africa (but not for very much longer.) Back in Sunnydale, everybody else is recovering from the near-apocalypse – Buffy is successfully managing to not think about Spike, but not-so-successfully managing to forget the incident in the bathroom; Dawn is adamant that she's going to be Slayer Jnr.; Giles is trying to sort out everybody's lives as per usual; Anya and Xander's possibility of a reconciliation is hampered somewhat by the latter's having to look after Willow… and as for Willow? Well, she's flipped, only this time in the usual, non-magical way…

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RATING: PG, I reckon… And it will be B/S, eventually… amongst others… X/A, maybe X/W to some degree… it's amazing what a near-apocalypse can do for your love life…

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SPOILERS/SETTING: Set after the Season 6 finale, "Grave",, so pretty much spoils all of Season 6.

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DISCLAIMER: They all belong to Joss; I'm just trying to sort out the mess he left us with.

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AUTHOR'S NOTES: In the absence of the arrival of Season 7, and as a result of too much fluff-reading, and a very bizarre, nonsensical dream, I've decided to give this another go. This is only my second fic (don't ask about the first. Seriously.) and I'm already trying to use all the Scoobies at once. Talk about diving in at the deep end, huh? Please review and tell me how I'm doing - I imagine you people are more obsessive than me…

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Cradle

Chapter One

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Somewhere in Africa…

Deep in a cave, miles from anything resembling civilisation, a very bruised and very blond vampire finally stopped screaming in agony, and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Above him, a dark, glowy-eyed demonic shaman looked on disinterestedly, wondering when the pathetic excuse for a demon at his feet was going to go away. He had much better things to be doing – a few minor curses to inflict, some more trials to set – than baby-sitting his clients while they recovered. He hadn't anticipated the soul-receiving to be quite so… well… painful; he'd have to rethink the procedure for next time. It had been a good few centuries since he'd granted a soul and he was a little out of practice.

Spike coughed up blood for what felt like the fiftieth time since he'd started the trials, and resisted the overwhelming urge to curl into a ball. That wouldn't help him much at this stage; what _would_ help, he decided, would be killing the idiot shaman where he stood. Although… no, that wouldn't really help either, but it would sure as Hell make him feel better. This was just what he was going to do. Unfortunately, for the moment at least, he couldn't even stand, let alone kill something twice his size.

Coughing again, he braced himself against the wall to stand up. Once he was steady and relatively stable on his feet, he glared contemptuously into the bluish, glowing orbs that were the shaman's eyes. "That wasn't… what I asked you for…"

The shaman contemplated this, cocking his head to the side. "You asked," he clarified, "to be what you were." Spike tried to answer back, but ended up coughing again. The shaman continued, "You asked that the Slayer receive what she deserves."

"I _meant_," said Spike, finally, "that you take that soddin' chip out of my head so I could stop being her lapdog and start killing again."

"I don't understand. How would that be what she deserves?"

Spike paused. It made perfect sense in his head. "Well… that way, she'd have no choice but to stake me. She wouldn't be able to do it; she'd end up having to think about it… or think about me. Either that or she'd just kill me without a second thought and put us both out of our misery." He shook his head a little exasperatedly, realising that pouring his heart out to a demon wasn't particularly constructive. "I did _not_ mean, 'give me back my soul'. That isn't what I wanted."

The shaman laughed, apparently very amused by this. "I _know_ what you meant, vampire. But what you meant, or what you thought you wanted, isn't necessarily what you _really_ want."

"Yeah? Well, then, tell me what it is I really want," he said, bitterly, suddenly wishing he had a cigarette to be able to at least look cooler than he felt, and simultaneously realising they were all still in his duster. Wherever that was.

"To give the Slayer what she deserves: a vampire, or rather, another vampire, with a conscience. The possibility for her to be able to trust you… like she trusted Angelus."

This time, it was Spike who laughed, but there was no humour behind it. "So, you're telling me this all boils down to some unconscious jealousy of Peaches?"

"Not necessarily-"

"That's great, that is. Bloody marvellous…" Sarcasm wasn't going to help, but it made him feel slightly better. Then, he realised something else. "Wait a minute. I thought I asked you to get the chip out. It's still there; I can feel it." Apparently, the shaman had no explanation for this, and adopted an expression that could only be described as "oops… my bad." Spike sighed. "Great. I still have the chip, and now I have a nice, shiny soul to go with it. Why don't you just make me human, too, and be done with?"

"If you wish to undergo more trials, that can be arranged." He didn't appear to be kidding.

"No, thank you." Spike gave up arguing, realising it was ultimately pointless against a creature that seemed to be composed entirely of logic. "I think a free trip back to SunnyHell is in order, don't you? As compensation for your mistake."

"Very well… but you will have to wait. Come back in three weeks."

"Three weeks? But-" Before he could continue his protest, the shaman waved an arm and Spike found himself flying through the air, out of the cave again. He was alone, just outside the small village he'd walked through before arriving at the cave, with only his new soul for company. He had a horrible suspicion that the next three weeks, and quite possibly the years to follow, were not going to be particularly enjoyable…

To be continued…

Whatcha think? Interested to see a few more chapters? Or shall I scrap it now? Your Opinions Matter!


	2. Chapter Two

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on Chapter One.

A/N: I love feedback. And because I'm nice and craving reviews (and because the reviewers here are all alive, unlike the "Farscape" peeps), I'm providing you with more. Just be glad I'd already written Chapter 2. This one's a little longer to keep you going til I finish Chapter 3. The angst begins here. Sorta… Please R&R.

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Cradle

Chapter Two

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Sunnydale, several days later…

In the basement of the Summers' house, it sounded as if a war was being waged. Alongside the occasional grunts and, for want of a better word, war-cries, several crashes, clangs and thuds could also be heard. Every so often, the foundations of the kitchen and lounge would judder slightly. So far, all of the pipes and brickwork were still intact, but it would only be a matter of time before they weren't.

It wasn't, in fact, a war, and the only demons being fought down there were, for once, imaginary. With the destruction of the Magic Box, Buffy's basement had become a makeshift training room until it could be re-built. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite as strong as it seemed, and it definitely wasn't soundproof. The current occupants of the house were having to live with the noise, and patience was wearing thin.

Training, luckily, was almost over…

"Ha!! Take _that_!" yelled a small, flailing mass of vaguely female-shaped limbs as they planted a hefty kick in the stomach of a home-made training dummy. It wobbled, then fell over from the force. The limbs stopped moving and formed into a body, the face of which grinned triumphantly. "How was that? Pretty neat, huh?"

Giles, ex-librarian and ex-Watcher, cautiously re-emerged from the pile of boxes behind which he'd chosen to take refuge, and began his mandatory cleaning-of-the-glasses. Apparently, he had got them with him after all. Putting them back on, he examined the dummy on the floor and the various broken pieces of wood scattered about the room. "Yes… uh… very good. Very… messy."

"What, I'm meant to fight things _and_ keep the place tidy? Should I carry around a Dust-Buster to suck up all the vamp remains, too?"

"Ah… yes, I see your point."

"Anyway, what do you reckon? Do I have potential, or do I have potential?" she asked, a little rhetorically. Giles bent to pick up the felled dummy, which promptly fell over again because the stand was neatly snapped in half from the force of the last blow to hit it.

"Judging by this, I'd certainly say your strength is… admirable…"

The conversation was then cut short by the sound of the door opening, to Giles' relief. The female silhouette began to descend the stairs and came into view, a white take-out bag in one hand, and a Double Meat Palace hat in the other. "Hey, guys."

"Hello, Buffy."

The Slayer reached the bottom of the stairs and surveyed the debris. "Whoa, what happened in here? World War III?"

Her sister looked a combination of sheepish and very proud of herself. "I was just showing Giles how I helped you kill all those nasties in the crypt."

Buffy adopted her very best "mom" expression. "Dawn, I told you; you are _not_ going to be a backup Slayer."

"Actually, Buffy, it was partly my fault," said Giles, saving the sixteen-year-old from a grilling. "When she told me about the earth-monsters I admit to being a tad curious. You should be proud of her; she has remarkable skill and strength."

"All right," said Buffy, the admonishment only partially over. "This time I'll let you off, but don't expect Giles to keep baling your ass out." Dawn didn't look very impressed, but she left the matter alone for the time being. "Now, come on. Come get dinner while it's good 'n' greasy." Dawn ran up the stairs ahead of her sister and disappeared into the kitchen. Giles stayed behind to attempt to tidy up the mess of broken wood that she'd left behind. At the top of the stairs, Buffy stopped and waited for him, then called down. "Giles, leave it."

Giles looked up from the floor. "Are you sure? I feel somewhat responsible for this mess."

"I'm sure. I'll tidy it later; if I don't, I'm sure Willow will."

Conceding defeat, Giles started up the stairs after her. "Ah, yes… how… how is Willow?"

Once in the kitchen, he closed the door behind them. Dawn was sitting at the island contemplating the DMP bag, deciding whether or not she was hungry enough to eat it for a fifth night in a row. She wasn't.

"Hey, Buffy?"

"Yeah, Dawn?"

"I'm really not that hungry… I mean, I appreciate it, but…" She trailed off, an apologetic look on her face.

"It's okay. Tomorrow we'll have real food, I promise." Dawn smiled gratefully, and headed for her room, realising she was tired from her 'training' in the basement. Buffy took her place and peered into the bag. "If she doesn't want it, I might as well eat it…" As she reached into the bag, a memory struck of the last time Dawn had refused to eat any more DMP burgers. _'It looks kinda squished…' _ Remembering with horrible clarity exactly _why_ it was 'squished' caused her to scrunch the bag shut again and push it to the far edge of the counter. Off Giles' slightly confused expression, she hastily explained: "Ugh… I had this stuff for lunch. Guess I can't cope with it, either… You want?"

Giles waved off the invitation with his hand. "Thank you, but… no." After a pause, he remembered his original question. "Willow… how is she?"

Getting up, Buffy filled two glasses of water from the sink, handed one to Giles, then raked a hand through her fry-greasy hair. "She's doing okay, I guess. As okay as can be expected for someone who nearly ended the world… She just has these occasional freak-outs – I'll come home and find she's cleaned every single room. I guess it's a security thing. If it wasn't so helpful, I'd be more worried." She sipped the water gratefully, having been surviving on soft drinks all day at work. "Xander's been great, though. He's about the only one she'll talk to."

"Has Anya forgiven him for the wedding?"

"I don't know. If she has, neither of them have mentioned it. I think he's still kinda freaked out from the whole saving-the-world deal."

"Understandable…" Buffy nodded in agreement. "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

Giles examined the floor as he approached what promised to be a difficult subject. What had been hilarious in a moment of desperation was now no laughing matter. "You… a-and Spike."

Buffy suppressed a cringe. She'd spent the time since his disappearance trying very hard to forget about him, but things kept cropping up to remind her. "I wondered when we'd have this conversation for real…" She was getting tired of explanations – to herself, to her friends, and now to Giles, the one person she'd hoped she wouldn't have to explain to. Her ex-Watcher took a seat opposite her and let her take her time. "Me and Spike… was a mistake. A really, really big mistake, one which I should have fixed straight away."

"Why didn't you?"

"I don't know… Spike, he's… he's difficult to avoid. He doesn't listen. He's my sworn enemy; always has been." She wasn't even convincing herself by this point. "And he… he had this power over me. I just kept going back." She put her elbows on the table and her head in her hands, rubbing away a headache she could feel forming. "God, Giles… why did you have to go and leave?"

This took him slightly by surprise, but he suddenly understood. "You mean this… this all happened after I left? Right after?"

Buffy looked up again and nodded. "Yup. Give or take a kiss or two." Realising that sounded worse spoken than in her head, she backed up. "I was upset, so I turned to Spike again."

"Again?"

Another nod. "Right after I came back, he was the only one I could talk to. Don't ask me to explain why. I guess… because I knew he wouldn't tell everyone. He understood somehow. And he didn't expect me to be happy, glad-to-be-alive Buffy, either."

Probably unconsciously, Giles removed his glasses again and began to clean them with the ever-present handkerchief. Focussing all his attention on attending to a particularly stubborn fingerprint, and not meeting Buffy's gaze, he said, "I see… um… you'll forgive me for saying this, but that doesn't sound like a particularly, uh, conducive reason for… sleeping with him."

"I know." Irritated, she snatched the handkerchief from his grasp. "Either look me in the eye or don't talk to me at all, Giles. I'm sick of it."

Giles looked up, replacing his glasses. "Sorry…"

"All anyone ever did was avoid my gaze because they couldn't stand the fact that I wasn't happy. They didn't want to accept they'd done the wrong thing. At least Spike could look me in the eye." She frowned. "God, why do I keep defending him? The truth of the matter is, it just happened. One minute we were fighting, and the next…"

Her ex-Watcher nodded understandingly, then registered what she'd said. "You were fighting? Both of you?"

"Yeah…"

"What about his chip?" She'd forgotten that she hadn't yet told Giles about Spike's being able to hurt her. Sighing, she summarised what Tara had discovered as best she could explain it. "I… see…" he said again, slowly. This was proving rather too much to take in at once. He hadn't realised exactly how much had gone on while he was away. Suddenly, he realised he no longer knew his Slayer, and hadn't since her return; had he never left, they might not be having this conversation at all.

"Anyway," said Buffy, feeling as if she'd explained too much for one night, "now he's gone, and I should be happy about it… but I'm not. I keep expecting him to start following me at the cemetery… or come bursting through that door in the middle of the morning, half on fire…"

She trailed off, hating Spike for being the cause of so many of her problems, and hating herself even more for actually _missing_ him. After a brief silence, during which Giles had processed all of the information he'd been given, he spoke up. "Buffy… you're not going to like me asking this, but I have to clear something up."

She knew what was coming, but said, "Shoot."

"Do you… love him?" She didn't answer, a similar conversation with Tara ringing through her mind. Giles continued to prod. "O-or are you… in love with him?"

"I-"

"It's just… I know you, Buffy. I know you wouldn't… um… do that… if you didn't love someone."

Looking sorrowfully across the kitchen table at him, she realised he was right. She knew she had to tell him about what else had happened – Spike and Anya, and the Incident in her bathroom, which was probably the cause of Spike's leaving – but she wasn't ready just yet. He seemed to be having enough trouble understanding the tip of the iceberg, and trying to tell him any more was going to take several long hours.

Without another word, Buffy got up from the table and left the kitchen. Giles watched her go, then let out a heavy sigh. He wanted to sort out everybody's problems – help Anya fund the rebuilding of the Magic Box, assist Xander in breaking through Willow's barriers, be lenient with Dawn, and, more than anything, make Buffy see sense about Spike – but he knew he should stay clear. With the exception of Dawn, they were all adults…

…Adults who had gone through Hell and come out again more times than he could remember. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to solve their problems a little. After all, between them, they'd prevented an apocalypse. That was a big enough problem for anyone to sort out alone…

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To be continued…

More coming when I've finished Chapter 3. Thanks for the positive reviews. First fics in new fanbases are so nerve-wracking…


	3. Chapter Three

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

A/N: I'm getting into this now. Turns out that Buffyfic isn't as tricky as I thought; mind you, I probably won't be saying that when I get to the Spuffy… And thanks to kmoody for her (or his?) nice comments. One day I'll log in, check my statistics, and NOT start squealing… Anyhoo, chapter 3 here for your reading pleasure. Feedback appreciated, as always.

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Cradle

Chapter Three

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Magic Box, three days later…

It was a drab, drizzly, and thoroughly unpleasant morning; definitely not the sort of weather one would want to be out in for any extended period of time. That is, unless one was feeling equally unpleasant. Sitting on a bench outside the remains of the Magic Box, a recently re-powered vengeance demon certainly wasn't in the mood for sunshine. Normally, she didn't like the rain; today, she honestly couldn't care less. The drizzle slowly turned into a downpour.

Anyanka, as she supposed she ought to be known now, slouched on the bench, hands jammed into the pockets of her coat, and hair beginning to curl from the rain. She gazed solemnly at what had used to be her shop, wondering if it would ever look the same again. It looked far more inviting when it had walls and a roof. She stared blankly at the debris Willow had left in her wake. Directly in front of her, the door hung forlornly from its frame, which, for some reason, was still standing despite the lack of bricks to support it. It was, however, buried to approximately knee-height in rubble, which probably accounted for this. Beyond that, supplies and books (still blank books, she noted, which meant that the Dark Magic was still floating around somewhere of its own free will) lay strewn on the floor amongst the plaster, bricks, wood and cement. Slightly off to the left were the remains of Buffy's training room, the weapons and equipment well and truly buried. There was also a significant amount of dried blood throughout the place – hers, Giles', Buffy's, even Willow's, she suspected.

Anya sighed heavily. This wasn't fair. First, Xander dumps her at the altar; then, the whole thing with Spike, which was something she'd sooner forget (at this point, she also noticed with an ironic smile that the study table, although upturned, was about the only thing left intact); finally, her store gets smashed up by a rampaging and furious witch. A witch, on reflection, whom Anya had considered a friend. She didn't think friends went around destroying other friends' possessions. This was obviously another of those Human things she had yet to understand.

She was so lost to her thoughts that she didn't hear the other person approach until he was hovering in front of her, umbrella in hand. "You know," he said, sympathetically, "staring at it isn't going to help. And I don't think rubble grows with the rain, either."

Anya looked up. "Hello, Xander," she said, shortly. While it was true that misery loved company, Xander was not the sort of company she wanted. Xander meant all sorts of problems that she didn't want to think about at this moment in time. Unfortunately, he'd obviously come here for a reason, so she'd have to at least pretend to be able to talk to him.

He sat down next to her on the bench and held the umbrella over them both, for what it was worth. "So…" he started, then realised he hadn't decided how to end the sentence.

"So…" repeated Anya. There only seemed to be one topic of conversation worth talking about. "I hear you saved the world."

"Uh… yeah. Xand-man saves the day once again."

"I want you to know that it's appreciated. I've heard that apocalypses aren't particularly pleasant for anybody involved."

"Thanks."

"However," she continued, not looking at him. "I only wish you'd managed to save the world a little faster, then my shop might still be intact."

Xander frowned. Nothing he did ever seemed good enough. "Well, y'know, I would have. But I was kinda doing the whole trying-not-to-get-everybody-killed-in-the-process thing." Getting angry with Anya, as he'd discovered before, was never productive. Sighing, he changed the subject. "Come on, An. You're going to get pneumonia or something out here," he said, getting up again and holding out a hand to help her up.

She looked from the outstretched hand to him, and blinked. "You want me to go with you?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I'll take you home."

She blinked again. "You'll take me home. To the apartment we used to share." Xander wasn't sure where this was leading, but it didn't sound good, judging by her sceptical tone. "We will get to the apartment and you'll ask to come in, and I, being naïve and ultimately weak around you, will let you in. Then we will end up talking, and with talking comes kissing, and I'll end up forgiving you for _leaving _me at my wedding." Returning her gaze to the ruined shop, she finished with, "No, thank you, Xander. I'd rather stay here."

Xander shook his head exasperatedly. "Actually, I was only going to walk you home. It's getting dark and I don't want you getting hurt." Anya didn't answer him; he realised it was a lost cause. "Fine. Go home at midnight through the cemetery for all I care…"

With that, he stalked off back the way he'd come. Walking away from Anya in the pouring rain seemed to be a common occurrence these days. What he hadn't remembered, or didn't know, was that she could teleport herself wherever she wanted, and his chivalry had not only fallen on deaf ears, but was also utterly pointless.

Meanwhile, in Africa…

It had been a week and a half since Spike had regained his soul. So far, he wasn't enjoying the experience. He knew he'd killed a lot of people – as a matter of fact, he'd stopped counting after a hundred, and that was before he'd even reached the twentieth century – and he knew that having a soul meant feeling remorse for it. God knows, he'd complained about Angel's brooding enough, and now he was about to face the same fate. Years… decades… maybe even centuries… just brooding. Therefore, he was more or less prepared for this; soul or no soul, he refused to brood, because the Big Bad didn't do that. At least, not in public...

What he wasn't prepared for was exactly how bad it would be. Angel, he realised, hadn't been exaggerating to gain a sympathy vote. Remorse bloody hurt. Every single one of his victims' faces came back to him systematically, just long enough for him to remember them, remember their screams or their freezing in terror right before the feed, before vanishing again and leaving him with an onslaught of emotion he had no idea how to handle. He'd been expecting a brief stab of conscience; instead, he'd ended up with the full-on mental torture.

His new soul had apparently decided to take a short break, giving him time to recuperate slightly. He'd spent the past three hours sitting in the mouth of the shaman's cave, head in his hands, trying not to scream. Now that his head had momentarily stopped pounding, he sat back and took deep, healthy (and ultimately pointless) breaths, attempting to recollect his somewhat frazzled sanity.

So far, approximately twenty of his victims had been recalled to his mind, which wasn't promising. He was in for a good few decades of this at least, and he could only hope, at this stage, that it got easier to ignore. And maybe, one day, he'd stop _thinking_ about it so hard… every person he'd remembered, he'd thought about – maybe they had families, loved ones, dependents; maybe they could have changed the world, been revolutionaries; maybe, just maybe, one of them might have developed some medical marvel, a cure for cancer, or the numerous other diseases which still couldn't be defeated…

Spike wasn't ready to deal with this. He'd always assumed that being given a soul came with some kind of instruction manual. Apparently not. He was also getting quite perturbed by the fact that he was starving and there was nothing he could do about it – it was midday, and sleep was impossible; there was nobody around, and, to top that off, he still had his chip. He could only hope some kind of lizard came within his grasp.

His soul felt like an alarm clock about to go off; he could sense it ticking, waiting for the right time to hurl another barrage of previous victims at him. Just as he braced himself, something he hadn't been anticipating happened. Instead of the helpless, innocent people he'd been previously subjected to, the worst possible memory came back.

Buffy. Clutching a bathrobe around herself, glaring across the bathroom at him with a mixed expression of fear, disgust, and utter hatred, and beyond it, just the smallest hint of betrayal. The pre-soul guilt had been bad enough. This time it was unbearable. He didn't even have time to think beyond that moment, or contemplate how she might react to his current predicament – it was enough to send him over the edge. He gave in, and started moaning, curling into a little ball of self-loathing…

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To be continued…

Oh, it's fun to torture Spike… and he's got another week to recover before he sees Buffy again. What fun! :D Reviews get Chapter 4 here faster. Or at least, I like to think they do. Whatever, just tell me what you think ;)


	4. Chapter Four

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

A/N: One more character left . Time for Willow angst, and some Xander angst thrown in for good measure. Very slightly W/X in this chapter. Whether that's in a friend sense or something more, I'll let you decide. Please R&R.

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Cradle

Chapter Four

Xander turned up on Buffy's front doorstep looking bedraggled and sorry for himself. He'd somehow managed to lose his copy of her key on his way back from the Magic Box, and now he was pretty sure that nobody was in. The only person he knew for sure was in the house was Willow, but she'd locked herself in her room and wouldn't emerge until she got hungry, and that wasn't often. Which meant he'd be sitting on her front porch for at least another hour and a half until Dawn got out of school. He knocked a final time, just in case, and called through the door.

"Hey! Buffy? Giles? Anyone?" As anticipated, there was no answer, and he was just about to get comfortable on the porch when the door opened an inch. He peered through the gap. "Hello?"

"Xander? Th-that you?" said a voice, very quietly.

"Yeah, it's me." The door opened completely, but whoever had unlocked it wasn't visible. Xander went in, closing it after him, and looked around. "Will?"

"Uh-huh…" The reply was absent and practically inaudible, but he followed it to find her sitting on the stairs. She stared across at him curiously. "Where's your… uh… your key?"

He pulled his coat pockets inside out to show they were empty. "Lost it."

"Oh…" With that, she brought her knees to her chest, and buried her head in her arms. She seemed constantly tired, and probably was as she hadn't been sleeping well, if at all. Tara's death had hit her incredibly hard. Nobody mentioned the Other Thing if they could help it. Cautiously, Xander crouched to her level and placed a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, looking up wide-eyed. "What?!"

"Sh, it's just me." Willow's expression calmed. "I didn't wake you up when I arrived, did I?"

"Who, me?" She smiled and attempted a weak laugh. When she spoke again she seemed more alert. "Ha. No. I was… I was clearing up. Dawny left another mess in the basement. Buffy told her to clean it up, but you know kids."

"I knew we should've house-trained that girl…" joked Xander. "Have you eaten?"

"Not yet… but… but Buffy brought me something from the Double Meat on Tuesday." It was Thursday. Xander sighed and pulled her to her feet.

"Come on. I'll make you a Xander Harris Special Sandwich."

He managed to manoeuvre her into the kitchen and sit her down at the island, then set about searching the cupboards for ingredients. He was amazed to discover Buffy's cupboards relatively well-stocked; money had been tight, and she'd ended up working extra shifts. It was obviously paying off, at least for the moment. There was also the added help of having Giles back, who insisted on helping financially despite Buffy's protests. Willow watched Xander, her head moving from side to side, as he went about the kitchen in a flurry of activity. He stopped after a few minutes, and presented her with a very tall and overstuffed sandwich containing several different meats and lots of mayonnaise.

"Voila!"

"Wow…" she said, contemplating it. "Big…"

"Special Sandwiches are always big. That's why they're special." Sitting opposite her, he added, "Try it." She was going to politely refuse - she really didn't feel like eating – but could tell by the look on her friend's face that it wasn't going to be an option. She turned the plate around 360 degrees to ascertain the best place to start, picked it up, and took a cautious bite. Several of the slices of meat fell out of the middle as she did so. She chewed slowly. "Well?"

"Mm," she muttered through a mouthful of bread. "Meaty." Swallowing, she added. "And mayonnaise-y."

"Salad is for wimps," said Xander, heroically. "Have some more. You missed all the chicken-y goodness in the middle." He indicated the rest of the filling on the plate. Willow made a half-hearted attempt to rebuild the sandwich and dived into it again, taking a bigger bite.

Xander smiled. She was making progress. It was slow, but he knew she'd pull through eventually. He was flattered, and very glad, that Willow trusted him above everyone else, but it was also very scary. What if he messed up? What if he broke her? He wished someone else – specifically Giles – could get through to her.

She _would_ talk to Giles, as well as Buffy and Dawn, but only out of politeness and usually monosyllabically. Everyone was far more worried than they let on. The only trouble was, they didn't have to let on for Willow to know; she was still powerful, battling hard to keep everything under control, and trying to ignore everything she picked up with her hyperactive senses. She could feel everybody's worry, and the stress of trying not to worry them more only seemed to make her worse. The only person who knew what she was really like through it all was Xander. He'd been the one to pull her out of her rage, and he'd been there when she broke down and cried immediately after. He wouldn't care, after all this, how upset or frustrated she got, so he got to see the real, broken, hurting Willow, while everybody else got to see the trying-to-be-chipper, I'm-okay-honest Willow. She was leading a double-life, and it was killing her. Xander prayed someone else would break through her barriers.

However, at least by focussing his attention on Willow, Xander didn't have to deal with Buffy. He still hadn't forgiven her for sleeping with Spike. For some reason, that hurt more than seeing Anya doing the same. Anya had a legitimate reason – to hurt him – but Buffy? He couldn't understand it. Even putting aside his personal grievances with Spike, he simply failed to see why Buffy would do that. And what made it worse was that she hadn't told anyone. When – or if – that vampire dragged his pathetic self back to Sunnydale, Xander was going to kill him – really, honestly, stake-through-the-heart kill him.

In the meantime, he and Buffy had no choice but to get on. He was there all the time now, anyway, and for Willow's sake, and Dawn's to some degree, they kept the atmosphere amicable. Nevertheless, he was still going to kill Spike…

His murderous thoughts were cut short when he spotted the empty plate in front of Willow. "Wow, Will. Guess you were hungrier than you thought."

Willow looked down at the plate, apparently surprised at herself. "Oh. Guess I was. Could you… um… make me another one?"

Xander beamed and did just that, placing another huge tower of bread and sliced meat in front of her. He sat opposite her again and watched as she tucked in. Then, he started laughing when he spotted a huge blob of mayonnaise on her cheek that she'd failed to notice.

She looked up. "Xander?"

He stopped laughing, and reached over to remove it with his thumb. She flinched at the contact and he drew back. "Sorry…" Holding up the thumb so she could see, he explained, "Mayo." Willow relaxed again and Xander reached over to remove the rest of it. All the while, she gazed at him from behind the sandwich, a lost and haunted expression in her eyes. Behind it, some of the dark magic still hovered, waiting to be released, and on top of everything else, a silent plea for help. Xander left his hand on her cheek. "I'll help you, Will. We'll all help. You're gonna be okay, I promise."

The moment was cut abruptly short by the sound of the front door closing, and Buffy's voice ringing through from the lounge. "Hey, Willow, I'm home." She came into the kitchen and stopped short at the scene.

"Gee, Buff, could you get any more unoriginal?" said Xander.

She ignored him. She'd worked a double shift at the Double Meat, she was tired, and she wasn't in the mood for his sarcasm. Instead, she stared at Willow in surprise. "Will!"

"Hi, Buffy…"

"Hi… um… you're up. And you're eating."

"Yup."

"Wow. That's great!"

Willow smiled. "Xander made me a sandwich."

"A Special Sandwich," he corrected.

"Yeah. But… oh…" She looked around the kitchen, which was still clean except for the cutting boards and one of the counters, which was covered in breadcrumbs and spots of mayonnaise. "He made a bit of a mess. I'll clean it up, though, Buffy, don't worry."

"It's okay…" she said. "Xander can clean up his _own_ mess…" She looked at him pointedly, taking one of the escaped slices of meat from Willow's plate.

"And that I shall, ladies," he said, getting up to do just that. Buffy took his seat opposite her friend and watched her struggle with the rest of the sandwich. Willow stopped when she realised she was being stared at, suddenly self-conscious.

"What?"

"Sorry. It's just good to see you eating. And down here."

"Oh…" Since the bread was beginning to dissolve, she gave up on the sandwich, and looked across the table at Buffy. "Sorry about being so loner-y. It's just, what with the whole dealing-with-life thing-"

"It's okay," said Buffy, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Really. We understand. You can take all the time alone you need. It's just nice to see you up and about."

Willow smiled gratefully. This was the most forthcoming she'd been around Buffy and it was definitely a good sign. "Do we have anything to drink?"

Buffy nodded. "Sure. You know where it all is." Willow dragged herself from the counter, still a little lethargic, and headed towards the refrigerator; Buffy continued picking at the remains of the sandwich as she addressed Xander.

"Did you manage to find Anya?"

He stopped what he was doing and turned to face her. "Yeah. Sitting outside the Magic Ruins in the rain."

"And?"

"And… I don't know, I tried talking to her, but… I think we both still need some time." Buffy nodded again, understandingly, and Xander changed the subject. "Where's Giles?"

"He's picking up Dawn. He promised to buy us dinner tonight, hence the severe and welcomed lack of job-related food. Come along with us, Xander. I think we could all do with a night out." He smiled and nodded his acceptance of the invitation. Buffy's attention was diverted to the other side of the room by the sound of Willow closing the fridge door. "You wanna come with, Will?"

"No, I… I couldn't…"

"Aw, come on. It'll be like old times – just you, me, Xander, Giles, and Dawn."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. Besides, the fresh air'll do you good." She pouted. It worked with Giles (and, although she hated to admit it, Spike) and she was pretty sure it would work on Willow. "It'll be fun. Fun and food-y."

The ex-witch gave in. "Nada on the coping with the fun…" she started, then back-pedalled. "But food-y, I can do."

"Great! Now, I _have_ to get out of this uniform. 'Scuse me." With that, she vacated the kitchen and disappeared upstairs to change. There was a brief silence as Xander and Willow stared at each other from opposite sides of the room. Something unspoken passed between them, and neither of them were quite sure what it was. Xander was about to say something – he wasn't entirely certain what – when Willow put down the glass she'd been drinking from and averted her gaze.

"I should… go get changed. Don't wanna look all crumpled for the meal…"

"Yeah…"

With a weak, grateful smile, she headed upstairs, leaving Xander alone in the kitchen. He realised that she'd spoken more to himself and Buffy today than she had all the days preceding since they'd brought her home. It could only be a sign of improvement. However, she still seemed distant, trying very hard to be cheerful when she clearly wasn't. Watching her force herself to be happy for their sake was starting to become heart-wrenching; she'd laugh, or smile, and simultaneously look about to burst into tears; her jokes had lost their edge. She seemed only a half-Willow.

Obviously, it was going to take a lot of time for her to recover. Even more obviously, she was trying her best to do so. Therein lay the problem. She was bottling up in an effort to at least seem better, when, in fact, purging would have been more advantageous. She was suddenly proud and unwilling to break down in front of her friends, excepting Xander. And Xander, for all his efforts and devotion to helping her, wasn't the right person to help. All he had to do now was convince Willow of that fact…

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To be continued…

This is ending up angstier than I thought. To all the B/S-ers, don't worry, I will bring Spike back to SunnyHell very soon, and it certainly won't just be him turning up on her doorstep… Not entirely sure what's happening next, so bear with me. Until Chapter 5, please review :D


	5. Chapter Five

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

A/N: Believe it or not, I've actually figured out something resembling a plot for this thing. And, not only that, I've even figured out what the 'monster-of-the-week' is going to be, although that might be a vast overstatement. Anyhoo, this chapter sees yet more angst for the Scoobies. Sorry. Keep the reviews rolling in, please :D

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Cradle

Chapter Five

Sitting quietly in the passenger seat of Giles' car, Dawn stared out of the window. They'd passed the cemetery a few minutes ago, and, despite Giles' best efforts to distract her, it had sent her instantly into moping-ville over a certain un-dead, and currently missing, friend of hers. For all outward appearances, she was happy enough; having Giles back helped immensely. She was enthusiastic in her new found 'talent' for fighting, and was glad that school was very nearly over so she could spend her summer attempting to convince Buffy to let her train, but, what with Willow's rehabilitation, Xander and Anya's messed up love life, and trying not to remember finding Tara… Dawn's happy was wearing thin.

She missed Spike. A lot. She missed going to his crypt and just hanging out, watching television, or having him tell her a story; she missed the rebellious thrill of visiting him when Buffy didn't know about it. For some bizarre, insane reason, he was the only one who understood her, and he didn't treat her like a child. At least, not unless he really had to, and even then he'd usually apologise for it. By some strange twist of Fate, the youngest of the Scoobies had found her best friend in the eldest.

Dawn had considered going to the crypt just for comfort, just to be there. In fact, she'd taken his duster along with her – she was going to leave it there for him to find when he came back. 'When'. Not 'if'. Halfway there, she'd remembered that Clem was still looking after the place, and the thought of the overly cheerful and eager demon was too much for her, so she'd headed back home, wearing the too-long duster with it dragging on the floor behind her.

The long leather coat had been residing on the back of her bedroom door since Spike's disappearance. Buffy didn't know about it yet, and Dawn wasn't quite prepared to tell her. She'd either be mad, or – and this was becoming more and more likely – take the thing for herself. Dawn had whole-heartedly accepted that Spike had gone, and that she missed him like crazy, and that at the same time she was ready to pound him for what he'd done – nearly done – to Buffy. Her sister, on the other hand, was adamant that she didn't miss him in the slightest and he could go to Hell for all she cared… at least, that's what she was telling herself. Dawn could tell Buffy missed him, too. And she'd also seemingly forgiven him; at the very least, she hadn't mentioned the Incident since.

Dawn's reverie was broken by Giles tapping her lightly on the shoulder. "We're back."

"Huh?" She looked up and brought herself back to reality. "Oh. Right. Sorry. Just kinda zoned out, there…" Not wanting to pursue the matter, she opened the car door and headed for the house, Giles behind her. As she entered, Xander called a greeting from his new position on the couch, and Buffy was just coming down the stairs, showered and changed for their meal.

"Hey, you two," she said. "How was school, Dawn?"

"The usual. Trying not to blow up the school, trying not to saw the tables in half, trying not to vomit…"

"Lemme guess," said Xander, "you had… chemistry, woodshop, and biology?"

"Close," she corrected. "Chemistry, shop, and lunch…" Turning to her sister, she added, "Buffy, _please_ can I take a lunch bag tomorrow?"

Buffy smiled. "Yeah. Get Xander to do it; he's great with sandwiches." Before either of them could comment, she changed the subject. "Now, go get changed. I'm starving."

Dawn obediently headed towards the stairs, and Giles moved to sit down while he waited for them, but they both stopped when they saw Willow coming down. She'd also showered, and put on minimal makeup, and looked brighter than she had in a long time. She smiled weakly at the assembled people in the lounge.

"Hey…"

"Willow, you're coming with us?" asked Dawn, excitedly.

"Yup."

"That's so great!"

"Indeed," added Giles with a smile, very glad to see her up and about. A hearty meal would do everyone good, especially Willow. Without warning, Dawn flung her arms around the redhead's neck, taking her by surprise. After the initial shock had worn off, Willow tentatively hugged her back. This seemed to set off a chain reaction – first Buffy, and then Xander, went over and joined in the hug, Willow's arms stretching to the limit to embrace her three friends. Finally, to everyone's surprise, Giles wandered over cautiously and wrapped his arms around the four of them. After some rearrangement, several arms went around him, too, and Willow ended up in the middle.

Eventually, her speech rather muffled, she said, "Breathing… becoming an issue…"

The group systematically released each other with mutters of "Sorry" and "Stupid Slayer strength…" Giles immediately removed his glasses and cleaned them, looking quite embarrassed. Willow looked from person to person, the smallest trace of tears visible on her face. Struggling to keep her composure, she said, "Thank you. All of you. Everything's so difficult, but… I know you're all gonna be here for me. Just like always." She sniffed, and choked back an emotional sob. "I love you all, so much. No matter what happens, I promise I'm going to try and get better…" Swallowing again, she added. "I know… I know that's what… Tara… would have wanted me to do…"

As her sentence trailed off into emptiness, everyone wore varying expressions of support, from smiles to mere determination. It was Dawn who broke the silence. "Wow. All this love flying around and I'm still not changed. Back in a sec." She ran up the stairs, and re-emerged in record Dawn-time in a different, smarter outfit. Once she was down again, the group filed out to Giles' car and piled in.

Dawn, being the youngest and therefore having priority over such things, nabbed the front seat immediately, while Buffy, Willow and Xander squeezed into the back. Content that everyone was in and belted up, Giles set off.

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One hour later…

Anya had finally decided to go home. She was walking, despite the fact that teleporting would have been quicker and easier. It had stopped raining, but her mood hadn't brightened any. Contemplating the empty apartment that would greet her on her return was almost as depressing as staring at the remains of her magic shop.

She hadn't seen Giles or Buffy since Willow's rampage; she assumed the ex-Wiccan's plight was currently more important than her own, to them at least. She thought she should probably associate herself with her friends again, but the time apart had given everyone time to think. Facing Xander was difficult enough, with his words ringing in her memory – _'I look at you… and I feel sick…'_ – but facing Buffy would be worse. It was obvious she had been hurt by Anya's actions, even though she hadn't mentioned anything. Anya wasn't sure she could talk to Willow right now – she understood the destruction of the Magic Box hadn't been entirely her fault, but nevertheless, Anya wasn't happy about it. She knew she'd accidentally end up upsetting her over something trivial, as usual, and since there was some of the dark magic still inside her, as well as floating around somewhere needing to be harnessed, Anya didn't want to risk anything.

The only person Anya really wanted – and needed – to talk to was Giles, and he was saying at Buffy's for the time being. In fact, she suspected Xander was, as well, to help look after Willow. She hadn't seen Spike - not that she cared much – since… that night. She assumed, however, that he was probably hanging around Buffy's place, too.

Buffy, again, had become Miss Popular, leader of the group and all-round wonderful individual. Anya was beginning to feel very left out, even though it was partially her own fault. But still, it wouldn't hurt for her friends to see her once in a while, Xander excepted for the moment. She'd suffered a tragic loss, too, hadn't she? She helped to save the world as much as everyone else. So why did it feel like all of her problems of the year were of no concern to anyone any more?

She rounded a corner with a heavy sigh, walking the last leg of her journey home. As she passed a restaurant, something compelled her to look through the window. She began to wish she'd ignored the instinct. At the back, around a large, circular table, sat her five friends. They were all tucking into various meals, obviously courtesy of Giles. It hurt that nobody had thought to invite her. Well, fine, she would just invite herself.

She was just about to enter the restaurant and head over to their table, when she stopped, engrossed in watching them. Giles, sitting between Buffy and Dawn and looking very much like the metaphorical father figure, was smiling and laughing with them. The elder sister punched him playfully on the arm for something he'd said, causing him to wince, and then apologised. He brushed off her concern with a wave of his hand, rubbed his arm slightly, and ruffled her hair affectionately. At Dawn's perturbed expression, he did the same to her, and put an arm around each of them, giving them a quick cuddle each. On the other side of the table, Willow smiled at them as she nibbled experimentally at a chicken leg. She put it down and reached for a drink, but was stopped in her track by Xander, who picked up a napkin and attended to a ketchup stain on her left cheek.

The whole group seemed very happy, and so hideously familial that Anya felt a stab of jealousy. Giles had used to include her in his affections. It had used to be her cheek Xander would clear ketchup from. Not that she was messy enough to get ketchup on her cheek, of course, but it was the principal of the thing. She fought back a sob, brushed the tears from her eyes, and turned away. Her brisk, outwardly irritated walk soon broke into a run, and she fled the rest of the way home. She knew, then, that she'd never be a part of their group again…

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To be continued…

Aww. Poor Anya… (Amazingly, I don't hate her. For some reason, she just tapped me on the shoulder and say "Hey, here's an idea: make me lonely!". *shrug* Muses. Can't live with 'em, can't write without 'em. Next chapter will see some S/B fluff, at long last. Keep reviewing!


	6. Chapter Six

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

A/N: Long chapter this time. And I realised this is going to be one humongous fic when it's done, but, then again, I never do anything by halves ;) Buffy angst this time, and even some S/B fluff (ish) to keep you all going… As this uses some lines from 'the bathroom incident' and I'm not entirely sure they're right, any reviews telling me where/if I went wrong would be appreciated.

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Cradle

Chapter Six

Inside the restaurant, the Scoobies had put all their problems behind them for the moment, and were just enjoying each other's company. After an hour or so, with the whole gang feeling very full up and yearning for their comfy beds, the time came for Giles to pay. He sent everyone out to the car so as not to incur arguments about the bill; if they saw it, he knew they'd want to pay their share, and none of them could afford it. In all honesty, he shouldn't have spoilt them like he had, but it seemed to have done a world of good to them all.

The group began to file out to the car, chattering. Willow was hanging onto Xander protectively, her arm linked with his, and Dawn bounced ahead of them. Buffy brought up the rear, but turned around halfway and returned to the table.

"Something wrong, Buffy?" he asked, indicating for the waiter to bring over the bill.

"Nope." She sat down in Willow's vacated seat, opposite her ex-Watcher. "Just wanted to thank you for doing this. I think it's what everyone needed."

"Um… yes."

Buffy, somewhat oblivious to his awkwardness, carried on. "And did you see Willow? I haven't seen her that happy in so long. It feels so nice to have everyone together again." When she received no answer from him, she peered at him. He appeared to be lost in thought. Waving a hand in front of his eyes to attract his attention, she asked, "Giles? Still with us?"

"What?" he asked, snapping out of it. "Oh… yes."

Buffy feigned innocence, propped her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, and adopted a singsong, child-like voice in an attempt to get him to open up to her. "Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?"

A pause. "Noting. It's… nothing." Off her obviously disbelieving stare, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily before replacing them. "All right, there _is_ something."

"What is it?" She was worried; Giles looked very serious compared to how he'd been earlier.

"In…" he began, then cleared his throat. "In regards to our conversation the other day… y-you never answered my question."

"Oh…" She knew he was referring to his query of whether she was in love with Spike. She hadn't answered because she didn't trust herself to give him the answer he wanted to hear. She removed her elbows from the table, and started to examine her hands where they lay in her lap. "I know. It's… very complicated."

"Well, either you do, or you don't. Which is it, Buffy?" She didn't reply, merely continued staring at her hands. "The sooner you tell me, the sooner I can help you."

Finally, she looked up again. "I know what you want me to say, Giles. I know you just want me to say that I hate him and be done with it… but in all honesty, I really don't know how I feel about him. I thought I'd developed… feelings for him, but…" She shook her head. "Look, can we not do this now? It's been such a great night, and I don't want to end up ruining it by fighting with you."

"Yes. Of course. I'm sorry." He smiled apologetically. "But you _do_ know we have to discuss this-"

"I know. Just… just not today, okay?" Giles nodded. At that moment, the waiter reappeared with the bill. "I'll see you in the car, 'kay?" With that, she got up and headed out to her friends, leaving Giles even more worried about her than before.

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Midnight…

After the meal, everyone had crashed into Buffy's house, exhausted, and practically fallen straight to sleep. Willow was sleeping soundly for the first time in weeks, for once not being haunted by nightmares. This was probably due in part to Xander, who had opted to sleep in an armchair in her room, to keep an eye on her. Her sudden sprint towards recovery, while welcome, was also quite worrying, and he wanted to be there, just in case she regressed again.

Dawn was in her own room, as usual, but she was having trouble sleeping. Something was troubling her; something she couldn't quite place. She knew, though, that whatever the something was, it was to do with Spike, wherever the Hell he was. She rolled over for what felt like the hundredth time, pulled the pillow on top of her head, and closed her eyes firmly to try and sleep.

Down in the lounge, Giles was attempting to get comfortable on the couch. His worry for the entire group had grown to such a degree that he hadn't slept properly in days. This wasn't helped by the fact that Buffy's couch wasn't the most comfortable thing the universe, and many a night he considered he would probably be better off on the floor. He shifted position slightly and stared dead ahead, not really taking in what he was looking at, deep in thought. He was very concerned about Buffy. Although he couldn't be certain, he was adamant that there was more to her relationship, if that's what it could be called, with Spike than she was letting on. Fretting about it wasn't going to help much, however, and he was going to be of even less use if he was tired, so he conceded defeat, and tried one more time to get some sleep.

Up in her bedroom, Buffy was having about as much trouble sleeping as Giles and Dawn, and, unsurprisingly, for the precise same reason. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't get the damned vampire out of her head. She was thinking over everything that had happened with him, from kissing him post-singing, and their first 'encounter' in a collapsing building, right through to what he'd done with Anya, and-

At this point, she would make herself stop and cut right to the part where he left. Thinking about anything that had happened in between was _not_ an option, not if she wanted to remain in control of her already tenuous emotions. She was trying to accept that Spike was out of her life and he wasn't going to come back. Ever. He was gone. This was a good thing… So why the Hell did she feel so bad about it? Why, after what he'd done, or tried to do, or whatever, did she want him back? Could it be that Spike was the only thing in her life she could depend on to always be there? On reflection, she supposed he was… and now… he was gone… and it really, really hurt.

Buffy sighed heavily and rolled over to face the window. It was a warm night after the rain had passed, and humid, muggy enough that she'd opened the window. There was a slight breeze catching the nets at the window. A full moon was just visible, bright white against the dark sky; in the distance, a dog started howling and her thoughts turned inexplicably to Oz, wondering where he was and how he was doing. He was lucky. He'd gotten out of Sunnydale, away from the Hell it had become these days. Pushing the random thought out of her brain, Buffy tried in vain to sleep, but all the usually imperceptible night sounds kept her awake – the crickets, a distant cat, a twig breaking under her window… wait a minute…

She sat up in bed to listen more closely. There it was again, nearer this time, followed by a quiet curse, as though someone was trying too hard to be careful and failing miserably. The breaking noises stopped, and then a scraping, scratching sound began instead, as whoever was out there started climbing up the drainpipe by her bedroom.

Buffy's first instinct was to fight whatever nasty it was, and her second was to pray it was only some idiot burglar. _If it is,_ she thought, _he's so picked the wrong house to mess with. _She grabbed a stake in one hand and a heavy, metal ornament in the other, and cautiously approached the window. She opened it further so she could lean out and get a head start on attacking whoever – or whatever – it was, before it had a chance to attack her. Just as she was about to stick her head out of the window, someone else's head appeared there instead, along with two hands on the sill.

She leapt back from the window in shock and automatically went into attack-mode before her brain registered who it was. Then she dropped both weapons on the floor. "S-Spike?"

The vampire was half in her window by this point, performing a precarious balancing act while he tried to get enough momentum to swing his legs inside the room. The dewy windowsill was making his task all the more difficult, and Buffy was currently in too much shock to help him. He stopped for a second to look at her. "Yeah. Why so surprised, love?"

Moving closer, a little cautiously, Buffy attempted to form a coherent thought. "Y-you're here…"

"_Course_ I'm here, pet." He struggled again, almost losing his grip, and then finally managed to manoeuvre himself into the room to stand in front of the window. He indicated her floored weapons. "Although, I must say the sharp end of a stake wasn't quite the welcome I was expecting."

Buffy stayed where she was, and Spike did the same, clearly not going to advance until she gave him permission in some form. She tried to figure it out in her head, and gave up. Of all the ways she'd expected Spike to return, if at all, him crawling through her window wasn't one of them. "But… where have you been?"

"Miss me?" he asked, in his usual predatory style. He took a step forward, but one confused and semi-murderous glance from Buffy stopped him. He frowned, apparently not having a clue what she was on about, and becoming exasperated with her. He resorted to sarcasm. "All right, I was saving a small child from drowning in the middle of the Red Sea. Where d'you _think _I've bloody been?"

Buffy gave up. Spike seemed to think she'd been expecting him, and that he hadn't mysteriously vanished for the past few weeks. She said nothing, just watched him. He was half in shadow, and half-lit from the moonlight, giving an overall ethereal effect. The pale skin and blond hair created a strange halo of sorts, which, in some ironic way, suited him. Angel, she noted rather stupidly, had never had a halo…

Spike sighed. He was getting bored of whatever game she was playing. "Look, should I just go?" When he received no answer, he made to leave the way he'd come in, turning to face the window.

"Wait…"

Her whisper stopped him in his tracks. He turned back to face the room. Buffy moved faster than he could even see and attached herself to him, trapping him with a kiss full of desperation and utter relief. Spike prised her off gently and looked at her, concerned. "Buffy?" She stared back at him, unsure what to say, then decided not to say anything for the time being and clung to him instead. Spike, confused beyond belief, held her closer and patted her back comfortingly. "It's all right. I'm here…"

"You're here…" she repeated, her voice muffled enough that he released her slightly. Her eyes flashing with brief anger, she managed to find her voice and pulled out of his arms to face him. "Don't leave like that, ever, ever again."

"What-?"

"Ever. Promise."

"I… I promise, Buffy…"

She nodded, believing him. Then, she made the mistake of looking at him – really, honestly looking at him – and beyond the confusion and concern in his eyes, she saw how much he loved her. The intensity scared her at first – this was Spike, after all, and he wasn't meant to have feelings for her like he claimed – but at the same time, it was familiar, something she knew, something she could latch onto.

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Time to be honest with yourself, Buffy, she told herself. She'd missed him. There. It wasn't so hard to admit now that he was here. Before common sense could kick in, she found herself wanting to tell him, and the words were forming before she could stop them. "Spike?"

"Yes, love?"

"I… missed you." The smallest of smiles broke out, but he could tell she wasn't finished, so let her continue. Buffy closed her eyes, giving in to whatever part of her wanted this in the open. "And I wanted you to know… I forgive you."

She was met with silence. When she opened her eyes, he was gone, almost as if he hadn't been there at all. She felt her heart sink to her stomach. _No… not again…_ "Spike? Spike!" She looked out of the window, down the street in both directions, and directly below – there was no sign of him. She sank to her knees on the floor, unable to fight the stream of tears that coursed down her cheeks. Her only coherent thought was that he'd broken his promise…

Buffy woke with a start and sat up in bed, abruptly. It took her several seconds to realise she wasn't on the floor. _It was a dream… Oh, great. I'm dreaming about Spike, again. _The disgust at herself didn't last long. Who was she kidding; she'd wanted it to be true, to look across and find Spike hauling his sorry behind through her window, with that big-eyed lost-kitten expression that was so irresistible…

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Okay, Buffy. Stop. Think. It's Spike. He's evil, he's a vampire, and he's out of your life. Be happy. She took a deep breath, and tried to get back to sleep. Then she realised what it was that had actually woken her up in the first place – the muffled sound of flushing coming from the bathroom. It had faded by this point, but if the light left on was any indication, it must have been Dawn's doing. Buffy sighed and got up; she'd never get any sleep with that sliver of light under her door.

She leaned out and flipped off the landing light, then groaned when she realised Dawn had left the bathroom light on as well. Muttering, she walked the distance of the landing and made to turn it off. In the bathroom door, she stopped in her tracks. The light seemed so much brighter at this time of night, and everything was sharp and harshly lit. A cracked tile on the far wall caught her attention. _When did… Oh…_

A hundred different images hit her in flashback, at an alarming speed. The whole night came flooding back to her, fragmented, but in exact detail, Spike's words and her own mingling into a mishmash of meaningless burble.

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'We have to talk…' as he closed the door. Did he know what had been about to happen? Could he have known? Did he plan it?

'…should've just let him kill me…' Damn those sorrowful eyes of his. Didn't think vampires did guilt trips.

'I could never trust you enough for it to be love.' But I trust him with Dawn. I've trusted him with my life… but I don't trust him to love me? Hypocritical much?

'Trust is for Old Marrieds, Buffy!' Like Xander and Anya would have been, he means? Look how far trust got them…

'I couldn't…' Only because I wanted so badly to stake him my-damn-self, if I had the guts. Something always stops me, and somehow, I don't think it's because I'm waiting for the day his chip comes out so it'll be a fair kill…

'I have… feelings for you. But it's not love.' Why does it not sound convincing even to me any more?

'I just wanted it to stop!' So he makes me feel like the bad guy. I'm the one who kept going back, even though he's to blame as much as me.

'Ask me again why I could never love you!'

Buffy switched off the light and slammed the door shut, then ran. She headed immediately for the stairs for some reason she couldn't fathom, and collapsed at the bottom in hysterical tears. She sat on the bottom step, and rocked back and forth, sobbing uncontrollably. It wasn't so much the flashback she'd had trouble with – that had been inevitable – and even though it still ripped through her to think about what Spike had nearly done, she'd pretty much put it behind her. He could have done worse, in retrospect. She could be walking around as one of the undead she was sworn to kill. What was making it so bad was that she'd forgiven him, completely and totally, and it made no sense.

All this time, she'd never truly believed that he loved her, not really. Maybe, she'd decided, he thought he did, because he couldn't kill her with the chip in (well, for a while, at least.) No matter how many times he'd admitted it, she'd never believed him. _'I don't hurt you,'_ he'd said, once, right before he'd finally had enough and kicked her out of his crypt.

Well, he'd broken that promise. The physical scars had healed quickly enough thanks to her Slayer immune system, but mentally, he'd definitely hurt her. If there'd been any trust at all between them, he'd broken it that night, and now, by leaving, he'd crossed the line. He'd left her, and he'd left Dawn, and that was unforgivable. So, yes, he'd hurt her. And now, something else he'd said once came back to her.

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'You always hurt the ones you love, pet.'

Spike had needed to hurt her to prove himself, whether it was intentional or not. And sitting on the bottom step, Buffy continued to cry, for far too many reasons. Somewhere, some part of her knew that if he came back, things might finally start going right again… but that possibility was seeming more and more unlikely as the days passed.

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To be continued…

Okay, I know, it was only a dream sequence… but it's still going to be a while til Spike's back from Africa and I needed to give you all something, right? Next chapter will see Buffy 'fessing up to Giles about all the things she conveniently missed out of her story the first time. Watch the angst fly! Until then, keep reviewing.


	7. Chapter Seven

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

Rating upped to PG-13 on this chapter for some language.

A/N: This scene's been nibbling at my brain for a while and finally I managed to fit it in - Buffy and Giles finally get around to having the Talk. Yet MORE angst and lots of Buffy-bitterness. This is also somewhat my attempt to figure out why Buffy really dumped Spike in "As You Were" because, to me, it seemed to come a little out of the blue. I refuse to believe she ended it just because of some stupid demon egg scheme, or because she was using him. I figured there had to be more to it… Anyway, it probably makes no sense. Review, please.

PS: To 'jill', who wants me to write faster - trust me, I'm going at top speed here. You people are lucky; you get a chapter a day, more or less. I've had people over on the "Farscape" page waiting for a chapter since about May… And 'kmoody' - makes no difference, really… I just wanted to see if I was right. And I was… I'd guessed you were a 'her' to begin with; just thought I'd check ;)

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Cradle

Chapter Seven

Buffy lost track of time, sitting on the bottom step. It felt like she'd been crying for hours, although she knew that sensibly it could only have been a few minutes. She'd also forgotten that she wasn't alone downstairs. As a result, when a very concerned Giles gently placed his hand on her shoulder, she practically jumped out of her skin. The shock was enough to stop her sobbing; she looked up at his sympathetic and worried face, first in fright, and then silently begging him not to ask what was wrong.

"Buffy… are you all right?"

Damn. Well, she had to talk to someone, and Giles was the only one around who might possibly understand. She sniffed and wiped her eyes clumsily. Had she been of sound mind, she would have complained at the rhetorical (and stupid) question with some kind of pedantic remark. However, all she could do was numbly shake her head. "Not really…" She stood up slowly. "I… I need to talk to you…"

Giles nodded and indicated for her to sit down, walking behind her as she moved into the lounge. He removed the blanket from the sofa so she could sit, then wrapped it around her shoulders. Buffy pulled it tighter around herself gratefully. Giles pulled up a footstool opposite her and positioned himself on it in what he hoped was an approachable stance, and put on his "go-ahead-I'm-listening" face, handing her a handkerchief from about his person in case she needed it.

To Buffy, this scene was familiar, except it had been Tara she'd poured her heart out to. Fighting off the wave of sadness that overtook her, she took a deep breath.

"It's all right," he said reassuringly. "Just take your time."

She nodded and attempted to think how to even start. Taking another deep breath, she began. "I have to talk to someone, Giles. And you deserve to know what happened between… me and Spike."

He settled himself more comfortably on the footstool, and prepared for a long ride. "Go ahead."

Buffy launched into a slow, deliberate, and painstakingly detailed (though not detailed enough that it made them both uncomfortable) account of everything that had happened between them, starting from the time she'd kissed him after he'd stood up to Glory. She explained about how they'd ended up falling (literally) into their 'relationship', although she was loath to call it that, and how, despite her better judgement, she'd just kept going back. She told everything as though detached from it, with an almost glazed-over look in her eyes, because it was far too harrowing to throw herself back into the situations.

Throughout, Giles made the appropriate noises to urge her to carry on, even though he didn't like what he was hearing. She needed to get this off her chest. Bottling it all up had been hard on her, and he could sense she was glad to be finally unburdening herself on someone, even though he imagined she'd rather it wasn't him.

After approximately an hour and a half, she got to the part when Riley had reappeared in Sunnydale, and stopped. The house was suddenly eerily silent after her narrative. Buffy stared off into the distance, not really seeing anything, as though she was sorting something out in her head.

Giles waited a few seconds, then decided he'd better bring her out of it. "Buffy…"

"Huh?" She brought herself back to his plane of reality.

"You were saying…"

"Yeah. Sorry…" She blinked slowly as the final piece of her mental puzzle clicked into place. "God, it all makes sense now!" Giles gave her time to make sense of whatever she'd just worked out, and when she started again, she spoke faster, and much more bitterly compared to her previously subdued storytelling. "Riley. When he came back. He was married. _Married_, Giles. He just dropped himself into my life and dragged me along with him on some crazy mission, and did he _bother _to tell me? No. I found out when Mrs. Riley Finn appeared…" The bitterness, it seemed, was harboured mainly towards Riley and not his wife, because she continued a little more softly. "Her name was Sam. I wanted to hate her, I really did… but I couldn't. She was too nice for that; she didn't deserve it."

She went on to explain, in brief, about 'the Doctor', her brief liaison with Spike, and how Riley had found them together. "I found out the hard way that Spike was doing whatever the Hell he was doing with those demon eggs. I threw a grenade into the crypt without a second thought. I blew up his _home_, for God's sake… After Riley and Sam had gone, I went back there to inspect the damage. There was practically nothing left. What made it even worse was the fact that he'd forgiven me for it _again_. I told him it was over; I laid on a guilt trip about how I was using him and it was killing me. God, the look on his face…" She trailed off; this wasn't what she was trying to say. "But… I was just thinking about it, all of it. Riley, Sam, Spike… and I realised how it all works."

Giles gave her a look that implied he wished she'd hurry up and tell him, because he didn't have a clue. She continued, attempting to put into words what she'd just a moment ago figured out. "Riley married Sam; she's the nicest girl you could ever hope to meet. She's also brave, and strong, and all the things Riley couldn't handle when he was with me. But there's the difference, see… Riley couldn't handle my strength, not just because it's greater than his, but because, unlike Sam, I let it take over my life. I'm not _nice_ any more. Sweet, innocent, little Buffy grew up into… Bitchy the Vampire Layer…" Giles cringed, and so did Buffy. It was uncalled for and she knew it, but getting it into the open had helped. She spoke again, quieter.

"I went back to Spike that day and used him just like I always had, but what really clinched it, the one thing that made me realise I couldn't keep doing it, was that I _asked _him to say he loved me…" She sighed. "All that time he'd been telling me willingly and I didn't want to hear it, I _couldn't _hear it. Not from Spike." This was veering away from the point she was struggling to find again, so she stopped and back-tracked. "Riley and Sam seemed so happy. And despite their lives as commandoes, they seemed so _normal_, too. I've never, ever had normal, Giles, at least not long term. There was Angel – definitely not normal. Then Riley – normal… right up until everything with Adam and the Initiative. And then Spike… boy, was _that_ ever not normal. It is so much to ask that I have a simple relationship once in a while? Whatever I had with Spike was complicated… and that day just made the whole thing worse." She sighed. "Giles…?"

He cleared his throat after so long not speaking. "Yes?"

"You wanted to know if I love Spike?"

He didn't like where this was leading, but said nothing about it. "I did."

She seemed about to answer, but then apparently changed her mind, deciding to lead up to it. Giles was certain she was only doing it to infuriate him. "You know… all this time – must be over a year, now – he's told me he loves me, and… nothing. Disgust at first. Panic for a while. Then… nothing. It was just a Spike thing, something I'd accepted as one of his quirks. But that night… after I asked… the way he said it, so full of hope… I felt something. Guilt, maybe, that I'd led him on again thinking he'd gotten through to me. Or thinking I loved him. Now, I know what it was… After seeing Riley and Sam, their normality and happiness, I _wanted_ to love him, to give him that much." Her eyes began to tear up. "But I couldn't, Giles. I wanted to and I couldn't; something in me wouldn't let me. I looked at Spike and saw a future exactly the same as the present – him loving me… me, trying so hard to love him back and being completely unable to. That's when I knew I had to end it. Whatever I felt for him, I refused to keep using him."

Giles still hadn't received a particularly straight answer to his question, but having heard everything that had happened, he wasn't surprised. Buffy was only just making sense of everything, right in front of him. He let the matter drop and moved on. "So… after you ended it," he said, "is that why he left?"

"You think anything's that simple where Spike's concerned?"

"I… I suppose not. What happened?"

"Pretty soon after that was Xander and Anya's wedding. You know about what happened with that. On my side of my life, things actually started getting slightly better. Then Spike turned up, dragging along some girl he'd picked up in a pathetic attempt to make me jealous. The really annoying thing is, it worked. We talked, he left, and that was the end of it. Or so I thought…" She paused to let this sink in. Or possibly for effect, Giles wasn't sure. "After the wedding, after Anya reappeared all newly-vengeanced and royally pissed at Xander, it all started going wrong again. We found a camera in the front yard – Xander naturally assumed it was Spike's doing, so I confronted him about it. This time, it was him who'd had enough; he threw me out of his crypt. If it had ended there it would have been fine, all loose ends aside. Except it didn't end there. Turns out the Nerd Herd had cameras all over town so they could watch me… including one in the Magic Box. Willow was trying to trace the source of them and accidentally tapped into the Magic Box camera…"

Buffy stopped again as the memory came back, the image of Spike and Anya stinging almost as much now as it did at the time. Giles waited while she composed herself enough to continue. "We saw – me, Willow, Dawn and Xander – we saw Anya… we…" She couldn't say it. Giles and Anya were close; it would hurt him to know what she'd done and Buffy didn't really want to be the one to break the news. Technically, that was Anya's job, and it really wasn't even Buffy's place to inform him.

Giles was concerned again. Whatever they'd seen, Buffy was obviously upset by it, and it must have been serious. She lived on the Hellmouth and was witness to demons and God only knew what else on a daily basis. For something she'd seen to have this much of an effect on her… well, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. "What is it, Buffy?" he asked, softly. "What was it you saw?"

She sniffed and avoided his eyes. "Anya and Spike…" Silence. "They were…" Buffy shuddered. "On the table…"

Buffy looked up. Giles seemed about to explode, and was doing a very good job of containing himself because of the late (or, technically, early) hour. He managed to calm himself down. "What…?"

"She did it to get back at Xander, I guess; he did it to hurt me. I don't think either of them intended to. But to cut a long and horrible story short, that's how Xander found out about me and Spike, and that's why the air's a little chilly between us. Willow found out through Tara later. And before you ask, that isn't why Spike left, either."

"You're not telling me this gets any worse, surely?"

"Afraid so…" This was it. This was the moment she'd have to come clean to Giles about why he'd really left. She prayed he'd let her finish, and hoped he'd at least try and understand why she could forgive him. It wasn't going to be easy. Keeping her voice steady, she re-accounted it. "Spike got it into his head that we had to talk, and I suppose he was right. But by that stage, I'd had enough of his cheating, in every sense of the word, and I didn't want to know. I was in the bathroom getting ready for a bath when he showed up. He started explaining himself, saying he'd gone to the Magic Box to get a spell to use on himself because he was sick of being in love with me. I can't say I blame him. He told me that I should have just let Xander stake him. When I told him I couldn't, of course he asked me why – he _knew_ why, the bastard, but he wanted me to say it. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to convince Spike of anything?

"I have a fairly good idea, yes…"

"Well, it's difficult. What else could I do, Giles? Lie to him again? I admitted that I had feelings for him, and that was the truth… I know that's not what you want to hear, but it's not exactly something I could control. He was adamant that I loved him… of course, I told him I didn't, that I could never trust him enough for it to be love. But when Spike gets an idea in his head, he doesn't let up… and when he wants something, he's used to getting it…"

Nausea threatened, but she fought it. It was more a result of lack of sleep and emotional stress than because of what she was describing. She didn't need to continue for Giles to immediately guess what had happened, simply by looking in her eyes. He placed both hands on her shoulders firmly and examined her face. "Good God, Buffy… I didn't think he'd be capable of…" He looked sickened. "Did he-?"

"No… no, I was fine. The bath did more damage than he did. I managed to stop him. That cracked tile in the bathroom is where he hit the wall. Must've really hurt him."

"After what he did, Buffy, I wouldn't worry about harming him."

"He fled almost right after; he stayed long enough for me to rip his heart out for about the hundredth time this year, though. I don't think I'll ever forget the look on his face when he realised what he'd nearly done; I'd swear it was remorse. Whatever the real reason is for him leaving, it was because of that. Now, he could be anywhere… he could be a little pile of dust for all I know… and I'm… I'm _worried_ about him, Giles…"

Her Watcher's face was filled with horror by the admittance as he moved his hands to his lap and began fidgeting. "You've obviously worked through this… um… incident, but… it sounds almost as if you…"

"Forgive him." It wasn't merely a completion of his train of thought; it was a statement. Giles was, as expected, utterly horrified by this.

"How can you?!" he demanded. "What he did was _despicable_."

"I know-"

"What happens if he comes back, Buffy?" Giles continued, not letting her explain. "What if he decides to finish what he started?"

"He won't-"

"He's already achieved a conquest over Anya… perhaps he'll consider trying with Willow next. Or Dawn. Would you forgive him then?"

Before either of them knew what was happening, Buffy had slapped him. They both recoiled in shock, Giles moving a hand to his quickly reddening cheek, and Buffy covering her mouth. She recovered enough to admonish him for his words. "You know… you _know_… that if he laid a _finger_ on Dawn I would stake him without a second thought. He would never do that. What he did to me, he did in a moment of blind hope because he thought… It doesn't matter any more. He loves Dawn like a daughter. And did you forget the chip? Even if he wanted to, he couldn't." In the back of her mind, it registered that she was actually defending him. "He'd die before harming her. As for Willow, if he did anything to her, he knows I'd kill him for that, too."

"I'm sorry… I wasn't thinking. You're right about that. But I-I still can't understand why you can forgive him so easily."

"Because so far this year I've used him, insulted him, beaten him to within an inch of his unlife, blown up his home, and set his poker winnings free." Off Giles' look, she added. "Long story; doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is that every single time he forgave me instantly. If he can forgive me all that – things I did deliberately most of the time – then I can forgive him. Technically, he didn't do anything to me. He tried to, yes… but none of us were of sound mind, then." Her eyes pleading with him, she reached for one of his hands. "Please try and understand… It's my choice, whether it's right or not…"

Giles nodded. "I don't like it… but you're right; it is your choice."

There followed a somewhat empty pause. "Bet you're glad you left, huh?"

"Actually, no. I might have been able to prevent all of this."

"I doubt it…" She got up from the couch, wobbling slightly from having sat down so long, and handed Giles back his blanket. The sky had lightened considerably and she guessed it was around four in the morning by this point. "I'd better get some sleep. I have to be at the Double Meat in about four hours."

She was halfway to the stairs, when Giles, now sitting on the couch again, remembered something. "Um, Buffy…"

She turned. "Yeah?"

"I'm glad we had this conversation… you obviously needed it. But I still haven't established why you were crying."

He was right. Buffy thought back to a few hours previously and tried to remember. It was the flashback that had triggered it, but it wasn't the reason for her tears. Remembering, she wrapped her arms around herself and looked back at Giles, knowing he wasn't going to like it. "I miss him…" One tear rolled down her cheek. "I know it's wrong, and crazy, and all kinds of bad… but I miss Spike."

Instead of reprimanding her for it, Giles held one arm out to indicate that it was safe to approach for a hug. Buffy returned to the sofa and buried her head willingly into his shoulder. She sniffled. "I just want him back here, Giles, for Dawn if nothing else. Everything feels all wrong without him around."

"It's understandable. He has been here for a while now."

She nodded. "I just… I wish I knew where he was. He didn't even say goodbye, he simply upped and ran and it's my fault…" She was getting tired, her speech starting to slur. Giles shushed her quietly, rocking slightly, and waited for her to fall into a much needed sleep.

He'd heard a lot of information, and had a lot of things to sort out. Buffy was now the least of his problems – she seemed to have finally sorted herself out to some degree, although Spike's absence was beginning to take its toll – but he needed to find Anya and talk to her. She'd been severely neglected of late by everyone, including himself. Not only that, he had to keep a close eye on Willow, just in case she relapsed, and on Xander. Looking after her was no easy task, and any weakness in spirit would result in them both breaking.

Wondering briefly when his life had become so complicated, Giles leaned back on the sofa, being careful not to wake the sleeping Slayer currently using him as a pillow. He laid the blanket over her and closed his eyes, finally managing to get some sleep of his own…

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To be continued…

Okay, this ran away with me at an alarming rate. I apologise if it's hideously out of character. I also apologise for the rambling re-account of, um, all of Season 6... Anyway, Chapter 8 will be… well, I'm not sure… but I'll try and have Spike back for Chapter 9, I promise… Keep those lovely reviews rolling!


	8. Chapter Eight

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

A/N: Finally, I bring you Chapter 8. Many thanks to all those who reviewed "Cold Trust" (nice distraction, huh?) and made the helpful suggestions as to how to proceed with this chapter. I apologise for the wait, but everything just sorta stopped for a while. Anyhoo, this chapter sees a little more of Spike in the lead up to his return to Sunnydale - and I promise, it probably won't be what you're expecting - some minor Scoobie tension between Xander and Buffy (and Dawn), and, finally, Anya gets a look in… She's not the easiest character to write, by the way, so, as usual, apologies for anything out of character.

Without further ado, enjoy!

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Cradle

Chapter Eight

Xander wandered sleepily down Buffy's staircase several hours later, having left Willow sound asleep in her room. He rubbed the grogginess out of his eyes and made his way towards the kitchen, yawning. He emerged a few minutes later carrying two mugs of coffee, one for himself, and one for Willow if she ever woke up, just as Dawn came down to find some breakfast. They both stopped in their tracks when they looked over to see the couch, where Buffy was curled up next to Giles, both dead to the world.

Xander exchanged a glance with the brunette, then looked back. "Did we… miss something?"

"I'm not sure," she said, "but if it is what I'm _hoping _it's not, I'm going to need therapy for _life…_" Dawn was, of course, kidding; Xander, however, seemed to have gotten the wrong end of the stick.

At this point, Buffy woke up, rearing her head from Giles' shoulder, which in turn woke him up as well. She glanced across at her sister and her friend and, apparently oblivious to their "aren't-you-going-to-explain?" looks, simply said, "Morning."

Giles, who spent a large proportion of his life feeling embarrassed anyway, smiled sheepishly. "I… I think I'll… let Buffy explain. Excuse me." With that, he got up and headed past them upstairs.

"Well?" prodded Xander.

Buffy yawned and looked around. "What time is it?" Her question was answered by the chiming of the lounge clock, which indicated it was ten o'clock. "Dammit! I'm late for work! Why didn't someone wake me up?"

"Well, Buff, we would have," said Xander, "if we'd known you were down here snuggling with Giles."

She sighed and rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "I wasn't snuggling. I came down here last night… this morning… I was upset and I forgot he was on the couch. We ended up having a long, healthy talk, and I fell asleep, that's all. If you'd get your mind out of the gutter for a few seconds and think about it, it really isn't that hard to figure it out." The uncomfortable air between them still hadn't shifted, and since they'd both only just woken up, tensions were rife. Dawn had, by this point, sensibly gone into the kitchen and left them to it.

"Sorry, Buffy, but what did you expect me to think?"

"Oh my God, Xander! Is your opinion of me really that low? It's _Giles_."

The argument was cut short by the appearance of Willow at the top of the stairs. "Wh-what's goin' on?"

"Nothing, Will," they said, simultaneously, and glared at each other. Buffy pushed past him and headed towards her room, giving Willow a pleasant smile that implied she had no qualms with her. She met Giles halfway as he re-emerged from the bathroom.

"Buffy? I thought you had to go to work."

"I'm gonna call in sick. I need to think over some things."

"Yes. Of course." He stroked her hair cautiously. "If you need to talk…"

"I will do so at a sensible hour." They both smiled. "Thanks for listening. And thanks for not being too mad at me."

"It's not you I'm angry with," he said, Spike's imminent demise implied in his words. Buffy was too exhausted to question him on that, so she simply nodded and vanished into her room. Giles ignored Xander as he headed to the kitchen, having heard the entire argument from the bathroom, and Willow watched the entire situation with interest. Her over-heightened senses detected a lot of emotions colliding in the Summers' house, most of them coming from Buffy and Xander. Buffy, she could sense, was confused and hurting; Xander was angry, and frustrated because some things were still beyond his comprehension; Giles was concerned, and she could detect a sudden, frightening hatred of someone, but it wasn't clear who; Dawn was hurting, too, and deeply worried about Spike – she wasn't making any effort to conceal this fact, either.

What Willow couldn't detect, however, was precisely how _she _felt. After Tara's death came pain, which was quickly replaced by rage… after the rage came remorse, and horror what she'd nearly done to her friends – in fact, to the world in general. Then came the pain again, fresh with the memory of Tara's limp and bleeding body in her arms, and then… nothing. Just complete numbness. Wilow wasn't sure whether this should be a good thing or not. It was good that she wasn't feeling the pain any more – even though, despite this, she still ended up wracked with sobs on a regular basis – but it wasn't so good that she never seemed to feel particularly happy. The closest she'd come to being happy again had been during the meal the previous night. And, typically, that all seemed to be a distant memory as she caught the end of the argument between her two best friends.

Xander cleared his throat and broke through her troubled thoughts, as he indicated the two mugs of coffee he was still holding. "You coming down for breakfast, or shall I bring it to you?"

Without a word, she came downstairs, took one of the mugs from him, and followed him into the kitchen. Giles was making himself a full English breakfast, as best he could with the available supplies, and Dawn was finishing her cereal. She'd also heard the argument, and glared contemptuously at Xander from across the island.

"You can be such an idiot sometimes…"

Losing his temper with Dawn in front of Willow wasn't an option, and, he thought, he wasn't really in the mood to be getting into a slanging match with a teenager. He aimed for a humorous retort instead. "You're not too old to put across my knees, young Dawny."

"Shut up."

Oh, so it was going to be one of _those _arguments, was it? Well, fine, Xander could be immature, too. "You shut up…"

"Oh, for goodness' sake!" cut in Giles. "Stop it, the pair of you." They both looked sheepish. "Now, I appreciate that everyone has things to work through right now, but I will not tolerate you all acting like children. If you're going to argue, please do so where I can't hear it." Turning to Willow and adopting a softer tone, he said, "Willow, how would you like to go for a drive today?"

"With you?"

"Yes. I thought perhaps we might have a little chat." Getting her away from all the negative energy currently bouncing around the house would be a bonus, too.

She looked to Xander for confirmation; he nodded, relieved that someone else was taking over for a while. He needed a break. "That'd be n-nice…"

Silence descended on the kitchen. Everyone ate their breakfast in their own little self-enclosed bubble, where they wouldn't have to cooperate with anyone else.

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Africa, four days later…

Coping with the soul, while not exactly a day at the fair, had certainly become easier as time had gone on. The involuntary twitching had stopped, for one thing, and the urge to scream had diminished. Now, Spike even had time to think about other things than his previous kills. These other things included the one thing he'd come all the way to Africa to get away from – the Slayer.

The shaman had promised to send him back to Sunnydale. When he'd asked, he hadn't really thought about it; it just seemed like the right thing to do. He hadn't thought as far as how everyone might react to his having a soul. He also hadn't remembered that Xander was probably set to kill him, Dawn would never speak to him again for leaving without saying goodbye, Clem had probably left all sorts of things he didn't even want to _contemplate_ lying around his crypt, and Buffy, of course, hated him. _So what else is new? _he thought.

If that was so, then, why did he want to go back? The easy option would have been to run away and _stay _away and make everyone's lives easier. Just take himself and his soul out of their lives. And this would have been a fantastic, wonderful plan… if not for the fact that if he didn't see Buffy again, he'd go out of his mind. He could live with her hating him; he just needed to see her, to keep an eye on her. He also desperately needed to apologise, for what it was worth.

And if he was going to be honest with himself, there was also the smallest, tiniest hope that she might not hate him after all. Perhaps they could work it all out. One thing was for certain – he'd coped two weeks with a new soul and all the perks that came with it, and it hadn't been pretty. He wasn't going to kid himself over this - if he was going to last more than a month without staking himself, he needed someone to help him through it. All of the people he knew and cared about (although that was an overstatement where some of them were involved) lived in Sunnydale, and one of them was bound to help him. Dawn, maybe, or Willow. He needed something as a constant to grab onto, just one thing that stayed the same, an anchor in his sea of impending brooding; that anchor, he knew, could only truly be Buffy, even if only from afar.

__

Just hold out two more days… he told himself. _Just two more days, and Old Lurky in there'll send you back… _At this stage, though, the contemplation of even _one_ more day of the Hell he was going through seemed too much. Forty-eight hours seemed a century in his current state. But then again, he'd technically waited a century for Buffy already, even though he hadn't known it at the time… one more would be piece of the proverbial cake…

At which point, as if to prove himself wrong, his soul dredged up a memory of one of his particularly gruesome kills, one that Dru had made him torture. The first century, it was him who'd done the torturing. This time, he was on the receiving end…

__

Sunnydale…

Giles pulled up outside the familiar building with a sudden dread, hesitating slightly before he cut the car's engine. He was beginning to feel as though he'd done nothing since his return but talk to people – first Buffy, in varying degrees of detail and emotion, then Willow, who had only been slightly forthcoming about how she was doing, and now… here he was again, about to engage in yet another long and arduous conversation. This one promised to be the most difficult yet.

He stepped out of the car and contemplated the task ahead. It needed to be done, this much he knew; but he just wished someone else could be the Grown-Up for once. While it was true that he felt some small – no, make that immense – pride that they all looked up to him like the father of their strange family, he more than often wished that he'd never let himself become so emotionally involved.

A Watcher's devotion to his Slayer transcended any other kind of bond. It was beyond friendship or love; rather it was a necessity built on blind trust and the ever-important sacred duty. But the Council had been right all along – what Giles had with Buffy was a father's love for a daughter, and it had spread out to encompass her sister, all of her friends, and even, all that time ago, her mother. They were all in it together, and always had been. He'd deserted them, and now he had to pick up the pieces.

Taking a deep breath, he raised a hand, and knocked on the door…

Anya was curled up in an armchair, nursing a large, half-empty tub of ice-cream while she watched television. The talk-show was utterly failing to interest her, and her Double-Choc Delight was slowly starting to melt. It vaguely occurred to her that she hadn't left the apartment for several days, but at least it still had all four of its walls and a ceiling.

It was probably silly to still be brooding over the Magic Box. But she'd cried all her tears for Xander, and she'd managed to hurt him, albeit not in the way she'd anticipated. Her magic shop was all she had left, and even that was gone. In all honesty, she had a perfectly legitimate reason to still be brooding.

Her attention was drawn back to the television again. The sardonic and sarcastic host was introducing the next 'guests' – even Anya could tell that the whole thing was a set up – as they entered the garish set. "So," announced the host, gleefully, addressing a woman, "you say your fiancé dumped you at the altar…?"

Anya's viewing was interrupted by the sound of the front door being knocked. She placed the now-liquid ice-cream on a nearby coffee table, hastily wiped her eyes, and got up. She opened the door with a pre-prepared speech that she'd composed for any caller that was stupid enough to disturb her.

"I'm only opening this door out of common courtesy. I do not want to buy anything, or sample anything, or discuss insurance, and-"

"Anya…"

She stopped in her tirade and actually looked at the person on the other side of the threshold. Her eyes widened excitedly. "Giles?!" Flinging both arms around his neck, she hung on tight, and realised she hadn't seen him for at least two weeks. "Come in!" She practically dragged him into the apartment, and shut the door firmly behind them both, then began a hasty and rushed attempt at clearing up the mess she'd been living in – clothes strewn about, some day-old take-out containers, and a pile of Xander's things that she'd not yet had the courage to destroy. "You'll have to excuse the mess," she said, indicating a cleared patch of the sofa. "I've been too busy being miserable to be tidy."

Anyone who didn't know Anya would have interpreted her matter-of-fact frankness as bitterness, but Giles could easily detect the underlying pain to her words. "I… um… I don't mind, Anya."

She stopped tidying and switched off the television, hovering expectantly for several seconds, then apparently remembered her manners. "Would you like some ice-cream?"

Giles peered into the proffered carton and winced at the slop inside it, then put on a polite expression. "Uh… n-no, thank you." He gestured for her to sit down; she did so, and stared at him curiously, waiting for him to initiate the conversation. When he didn't, she said:

"It's very nice to see you."

"Yes. Ditto."

"I've missed you," she admitted, quietly.

"Giles smiled. "I missed you, too." Then, suddenly embarrassed, especially when he saw the radiant smile he got in return for his comment, he back-tracked. "You, and everyone. All of you."

"Oh." She seemed mildly disappointed. "Everyone…"

He got the distinct impression she'd been by herself for a while. "Anya, when was the last time you saw anyone?"

She thought; this in itself indicated it must have been a fair time. "I saw everyone after Willow nearly ended the world." Again with the frankness. Maybe she _was_ bitter, after all. 

"And not since?"

"No." She wasn't going to mention how she'd spotted them in the restaurant. It almost didn't matter any more.

Giles sighed. It was now or never. "It's not healthy for you to stay cooped up in here, Anya. I know you're still hurting from the wedding. I'm so very sorry I couldn't be there for you – all of you… From what I've heard, you could all have used my help."

"I doubt it," she said, sighing, unknowingly echoing what Buffy had said a few days ago. "I mean, could you have prevented Warren from shooting Buffy and Tara? Or stopped Dawn from stealing things from the Magic Box? Or stopped Xander Harris-" (her contempt was obvious as she said his name) "-from leaving me at my wedding?"

"No. I probably couldn't have. But I could have been there afterwards."

"You came when you were needed," she told him. "Burst in like my knight in shining armour." There was an uncomfortable pause, then she changed the subject. "How is everyone?"

"As well as is to be expected." Another pause. "Buffy has told me everything that's happened."

Anya shifted a little nervously where she sat. "So… so you know about her and Spike?"

Giles examined the suddenly very interesting carpet. "Y-yes. Needless to say, I don't approve."

"Have you seen them together?"

He hesitated, about to tell her he hadn't, when he realised that she didn't know. "You haven't heard." Her expression indicated he was right. "Spike. He's… 'missing in action', I suppose. No-one's seen him since a few days after…" He trailed off. His original plan had been to wait for her to tell him about her liaison with the vampire, but it seemed it would come sooner than he'd expected.

"After what…?"

He hesitated. "I know what happened between you and him, Anya."

Her face fell, as her expression mimicked exactly that of a child who'd disappointed her father and knew she was going to be punished. "I…"

He stopped her. "Don't apologise. Believe it or not, I think I understand why you did it."

"I'm glad you do," she said, evidently trying not to break down as memories of wanting vengeance against Xander, and of what he'd done, came flooding back to her. "Because I certainly don't."

"Well, it doesn't matter," he said reassuringly, although he didn't believe it himself.

Anya was attempting to work out how he could possibly have found out. "Did you see the footage? Did someone actually tape it?"

"No… no," he said, calming her down. "Buffy told me…"

This, apparently, was much worse. "Oh, so _Buffy_ told you. Queen Buffy. The most popular girl in the world." There was no hiding the fact that she was bitter over this.

"Anya-"

"No, I understand, Giles. Everybody loves Buffy. Spike loves Buffy, you love Buffy, even _Xander _loves Buffy. And, just to counterbalance all the love, everybody hates Anya."

"Nobody hates you. I know it might seem like it sometimes, but believe me, none of us hate you. It's just… you have to understand – they've all been through a lot, just like you have. Excluding yourself from the group isn't going to help. If you've felt left out, it's not been done on purpose, but if you alienate yourself completely, it'll only make matters worse."

"I might as well not be around." Her original plan went out of the window. Seeing them all eating together had cut deeper than any knife wound. "You all looked perfectly happy without me the other day, eating in that restaurant."

Realising that she must have passed them and noticed, Giles' face looked the very picture of guilt. "Oh, Anya…" He placed a hand over hers. "I'm sorry… It was only supposed to be Buffy and Dawn with me to begin with, because they'd run out of food, but Willow and Xander ended up coming along as well. I promise you, we didn't intentionally exclude you." She still looked hurt, but seemed to accept his excuse. "Would my taking you to dinner make up for it?"

She smiled. "I suppose so."

Giles smiled back. This was progress. "Anya, why don't you come back to the house with me. We all appreciate you much more than you realise. I think you might be a calming element – Buffy and Xander keep fighting, and while you still have your own battles with him, I think you need to at least try and work through them. And Willow wants to apologise to you."

"She does?"

"She does." He gave her a serious look. "Please, Anya. I only ask because I want what's best for you."

Heaving a sigh that was part-relieved and part-nervous, she nodded. "All right. But only because you asked me to."

Within ten minutes, the two of them had finished tidying up, so that she'd at least come back to a clean apartment, and were heading back towards Buffy's house. Anya stared out of the window in silence for the entire short journey, thinking over all that Giles had said. Perhaps she'd misjudged them after all. Maybe it was partially her own fault for being so antisocial. The restaurant incident did sound like an honest mistake on everyone's part.

Moreover, she really did have to try and make up with Xander. He'd received his dose of vengeance, and it had hurt him as much as he'd hurt her. Anya also wanted to apologise to Buffy – she'd not known about the Slayer's relationship with Spike, of course, but now, she felt terrible. She'd never intended to hurt Buffy… just like she knew Willow had never intended to hurt her, either.

Now she'd thought it all over rationally, everything made a whole lot more sense… she was ready to see everyone again, in fact, she was eager to do so. Anya honestly hadn't realised how much she'd missed all of her friends during her bout of voluntary solitude. She felt, suddenly, as though everything would be all right again. It would take time, of course, but it would all be fine…

__

To be continued…

Chapter 9 will be here a lot sooner than this was. I already know what's going down in that one… B/S-ers, start your engines!! Oh, and reviews would be nice, too ;)


	9. Chapter Nine

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

A/N: Right. Quite a lot happens in this chapter. The Dawn/Clem conversation I mentioned at the end of "Cold Trust" is going to occur (and bearing in mind I have incredibly little to go on, lines-wise, Clem, it could be a little messy) as well as Anya's re-integration into the Scoobies. Oh, and Spike comes back. Can't forget that…

This is promising to be one beast of a fic. I'm barely even started yet… If it goes beyond about 30 chapters, I may have to concede defeat and kill the damn thing… Anyway, reviews welcome as always.

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Cradle

Chapter Nine

When Giles and Anya arrived at the house, Xander and Willow had prepared something resembling a meal with their combined talents. The air had cleared somewhat after Xander's misunderstanding with Buffy, and Dawn was speaking to him again; they were just waiting for Buffy to join them while Willow watched a saucepan of pasta finish boiling. Xander occasionally stirred the sauce while he made sure the table looked presentable.

Dawn was already sitting at the table, waiting hungrily for Buffy to return home from work. All eyes turned towards the sound of the front door closing as someone arrived. It wasn't Buffy who walked through into the kitchen, though; it was Giles, with a very nervous-looking Anya in tow. Xander's expression on seeing her wavered between shock and joy, and he found what he hoped was a happy medium, something resembling nonchalance. Willow smiled just as nervously at Anya, unsure exactly what to say, and Dawn, being Dawn, merely grinned.

"Hey, Anya! Where've you been?" she asked enthusiastically. "Nobody's seen you for, like, ever."

Giles ushered the vengeance demon forwards and she looked around the room, as if seeing everyone for the first time. "Hello, everyone…"

The other two occupants of the kitchen nodded their greeting, Xander attempting a friendly smile that didn't seem too forward. "Dawny's right," said Willow in her usual quiet tone, "we haven't seen you for ages. Is everything… a-all right?"

"Everything's…" she began, then caught Giles' warning expression that suggested now was not the time to be abrupt. "Well… the magic shop's seen better days, but I'm fine. At least we're all still alive, right?"

"Yes. Yes, we are," said Xander. "We have problems, but we're alive."

Dawn attempted to lighten the atmosphere, as it was beginning to feel like some huge weight was bearing down on the entire kitchen. "Uh… hey, Anya, you joining us for dinner? There's plenty of it, and Buffy'll be home soon."

"Oh… oh, I don't know if I should, Dawn. But thank you for the offer."

"Please?" she whined, perfecting her sister's pout and setting it to 'kill'. "It'll be just like before. Us all together, one big, happy family again. And Giles is staying, too… right?"

The ex-Watcher looked up from the coaster he was perusing. "What? Oh. Yes, of course I'm staying."

This in itself was enough to convince Anya to stay, and she nodded. Dawn beamed, got up, and forcibly dragged Anya into a seat next to her own. At which point, the back door opened and one very annoyed and very overworked Slayer appeared.

"Ugh!" she announced, hurling her idiotic DMP cap onto one of the counters. "If I have to clean out even _one_ more fry basket it'll be too many."

"And a very good evening to you, too, Miss Summers," said Xander, assuming the pose of a waiter with a tea-towel draped over one arm. "If you would care to take your seat, dinner will be served shortly."

Buffy smiled. Then she noticed their other guest. "Anya?"

"Yes. Hello, Buffy. It's good to see you again."

"Yeah, um… same here. Wow, where the heck have you been?"

Giles interrupted, sitting himself down opposite Dawn. "It doesn't matter. She's here now."

Buffy's brain was trying to make her remember the incident with Anya and Spike in graphic detail, but she knew that now wasn't the time. Aside from the fact that it wouldn't be the correct way to enfold Anya back into the group, it was ancient history now, and she'd forgiven her for it even if Xander hadn't. Besides, it only really promised to get ugly if Spike was around, which he wasn't. "You'd better stick around, An," she ordered. "It's really dull without you. I'd hug you, but I'm not the most fragrant Buffy at the moment."

She sat down next to her sister, who sniffed, and grimaced. "Wow, Buffy, you weren't lying…"

Buffy swatted the teenager on the arm. "If you'll excuse me, I'll get changed before we eat. Apparently Dawn has a very sensitive nose." She received a petulant expression in return, as her incredibly mature little sister stuck her tongue out.

Willow took the pan off the hob and started to drain the pasta. "Hurry up! Don't want your pasta getting all nasty."

The Slayer ran upstairs and re-emerged five minutes later, just as Xander was pouring the sauce for everyone. She retook her position next to Dawn, Xander perched at one end of the island, and the whole group, all crammed together in the kitchen, enjoyed their meal together.

__

Africa…

The time was drawing closer. In a few more hours, Spike would be back in Sunnydale… back to Buffy. This prospect was the only thing keeping him sane as yet more memories bombarded his mind, memories of a period of time when he and Dru had savaged an entire village, and sired hundreds of minions while they were at it. He'd almost forgotten about it until just now. Probably because Dru had killed the whole lot of them a day later.

Remembering that it had been a fair walk through the cavern to find the demon, Spike decided he'd best get moving. These shamans were very strict on punctuality and he had a feeling that if he was even a second late, the promise would be automatically renounced. Better to be early, if that was the case. Gathering his strength, and trying with all his might to ignore the pounding in his head, Spike stood and headed through the maze of tunnels, his vampire senses guiding him back to the shaman…

__

Summers' kitchen, one hour later…

The meal being finished, everyone was full up and having a wonderful time being around each other. Buffy cleared her throat and tapped her fork against the table-top to attract everyone's attention. All eyes turned to her, curious as to what she was going to say.

"Okay, guys. I know this isn't, like, the Last Supper or some big event or anything… but it feels like it should be something. Maybe an everyone-being-friends-again party. But anyway, I just wanted to say that it's great having us all together again, and that even though we've all still got lots of stuff to work through, I know we're all going to be fine."

"Here, here," said Xander, nodding, and drinking a toast that nobody had actually initiated.

"Yes. Well said, Buffy." That was Giles, who'd been thinking precisely the same thing. Everyone agreed in much the same way and eventually, idle chatter descended again… all except for Dawn, who was glaring somewhat contemptuously at her sister. It was Willow who noticed first.

"What's the matter, Dawny?"

"How can you all sit there being all buddy-like when Spike's still missing?" Obviously, she'd been right – they _had_ all forgotten about him. Various gazes assaulted her, mainly apologetic, except for Xander, who bristled at the mere mention of the vampire's name. "He was a member of the Scoobies, too, and, in case you've all forgotten, he's saved our lives. A _lot._ You're all just gonna forget about him?"

Buffy tried to calm her down. "Dawn, honey-"

"I don't expect you to stick up for him," she said, pulling away from her sister's grasp as she stood up. "I know what he did was wrong, Buffy, but that doesn't mean you can pretend he doesn't exist any more." She addressed the room again. "Don't any of you care? He could be _dead!_"

Willow, ever the voice of reason and serenity, said, "Dawn, I'm sure he'll come back. You know good ol' Spikey; he can't keep away."

"What if he doesn't come back, Will? What then? I don't see any of you jumping at the chance to figure out where he is or why he left."

Xander had had enough, and he wasn't afraid to let this fact be known. By this point, Giles had sighed exasperatedly and buried his head in his hands, pretending he was somewhere else. Xander frowned. "That's because he's evil, Dawn. He's evil and he can be sitting in a Dirt Devil for all I care."

"Xander!" The admonishment came, surprisingly, from Buffy.

"Are you _still_ defending him?"

"It doesn't matter. None of it matters." She attempted diplomacy. "Dawn, wherever Spike is, he can look after himself and I'm absolutely certain that he _will_ come back eventually, just so he can make my life a living irritation again. And if he doesn't, well… we'll think of something. Xander, I'm not going to keep having this same argument with you. Saying it louder and in different ways isn't going to change anything."

There was a brief pause while this all sank in, then Dawn flounced from the room in floods of tears. Xander conceded defeat, knowing Buffy was right. Peace didn't seem to last very long these days. Sighing, Buffy got up from the table. "Anya, I'm sorry. I was hoping we'd be able to have at least one night where one of us didn't end up in tears."

She waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine. I've missed all the drama of being a Scooby."

Then, as usually occurs in such situations, everyone burst into hysterics just for the sheer absurdity of everything. Buffy and Giles were laughing the hardest, and Anya soon joined in. Even Willow managed a nervous giggle, and eventually, Xander laughed as well. It seemed that it was just what everyone needed.

After a few seconds, Buffy regained control of herself and cleared the amused tears from her eyes. "I guess we'd better go apologise to Dawn…"

Everyone nodded agreement and they headed up the stairs en masse towards her room. Buffy knocked. "Dawn?" There was no reply; in fact, the room seemed curiously silent. "Dawn?" she tried again. Still no answer. Buffy cautiously pushed open the door and everyone stepped inside, to be greeted by an empty room. "Great…" she muttered.

"How'd she get out?" asked Willow. "I didn't hear the door."

Indicating the incriminating open window, Buffy said, "You think any sister of mine would use the front door?"

"But… where would she be going?" That was Anya.

"I have a pretty good idea…" said Buffy under her breath. Then, louder, she added. "Wherever she is, she obviously wants to be alone and she'll come back eventually. And if what I've seen of her fighting is any indication, I think she can look after herself pretty well."

"Buffy's right," agreed Giles. "Dawn is deceptively strong."

Nodding, the Slayer continued. "Best plan of action is to carry on as normal. And when she comes back, make like she was never gone; in my experience, yelling at her doesn't help. I think we've all had enough of yelling lately." Changing the subject, she ushered everyone out of the room and shut the door behind her. "Anya, you staying here tonight?"

"Uh… I… if it's no trouble."

"Of course it isn't. It'll be a tight squeeze, though, um… you can either stay in Willow's room with her and Xander, or find a space in the lounge with Giles."

Anya considered both possibilities, then turned to look slightly suspiciously at Willow. Without batting an eyelid, she asked, "You're sleeping with Xander?"

Willow floundered. "Uh… yeah. I mean, 'yeah' in the in-the-same-room sense, but not 'yeah' in the naked sense…"

Xander saved her. "I'm just staying with her, Anya, just in case she needs anything."

Willow nodded in a 'what-he-said' manner, and Anya seemed to accept this. Turning to Buffy again, she came to a decision. "I think I'll sleep downstairs with Giles, if that's all right."

"Sure," she said. "That okay with you, Giles?"

The older man nodded nervously. "Yes. Anya can have the couch; I'll take the floor."

"Ever the gentleman." Buffy rolled her eyes, and led everyone back downstairs again so they could clear up in the kitchen.

__

Sunnydale Cemetery…

Dawn pulled the familiar leather duster tighter around herself as she meandered between the headstones. In one pocket, she'd hidden a stake and a cross, just in case – even though she was confident in her abilities to fight the Evil Things that might leap out at her, she wasn't taking any chances. If that failed, she could always run, as usual. She'd come out here to think, and to get out of the house and away from everyone, and hadn't even intended to go near the cemetery. However, she continually found herself being drawn to it every time.

She was running over what everybody had said about Spike in her mind, wondering who to believe. She wanted to trust her sister's words – that he'd find his way back from wherever he'd gone – but Xander's, worryingly, were beginning to feel true. He _was_ evil – he'd always been evil – and it was only the chip that was stopping him from killing them all. Dawn had never believed that, at first, because Spike had always been nice to her. But then again, she'd always been nice to him, too. The fact remained, however, that he was a vampire. And he wasn't a vampire like Angel – he didn't have a soul and was only one of the 'good guys' because he'd been forced into it.

She'd never, ever doubted that Spike loved her sister, even before he'd figured it out for himself. Why else would he have let her live this long; him, the self-confessed murderer of two Slayers. More to the point, why hadn't Buffy staked him yet? Dawn had known long ago that there was something between them, way before there even had been, even while they still swore to obliterate each other from the landscape. She _knew_ Spike loved Buffy; she could tell by the way he looked at her. But ever since Xander had told her about what had nearly happened in their bathroom… she was beginning to doubt it. If he loved her, why would he do that?

It didn't make sense; none of it did. If he loved Buffy, he wouldn't have left her. _He wouldn't have left me…_ thought Dawn, sadly. Nothing felt real any more. It hadn't since Xander had saved Willow; in fact, it had felt wrong all along without Spike there to help save them. It felt even wronger now. And try as she might, Dawn couldn't help blaming the whole thing on her sister…

Her thoughts came to an abrupt end when she looked up and realised she'd ended up outside his crypt. Even without Spike, it held an aura of comfort for Dawn. She put an ear to the heavy door and heard the very faint sound of Clem watching television in the basement. Sighing, she pushed open the door.

__

Africa; two hours to go…

Spike knew he was getting close; he could hear the screams of another person undergoing the trials. He pressed on, following the tortured sounds through the tunnels. _Bloody idiots,_ he thought. _Wonder if they'll get ripped off like I was. _To say that Spike was slightly bitter about his experience would have been an extreme understatement. He was more determined than ever to kill the stupid shaman for his mistake. Unfortunately, that would mean finding his own way back to Sunnydale, and he'd set his heart on returning in a couple of hours by magical means.

Well… he could always come back, Slayer in tow, and they could kill him together. _That'd be right justified, that would. _Before he could envisage a possible future for himself and Buffy, however, common sense reared its ugly head. He had to apologise, first and foremost, and that, he suspected, would come after a long and arduous guilt trip until she deigned to even look at him again. He'd messed up, big time. The possibility of a reconciliation, if at all, was a long, long way off.

And anyway, first he had to get back, which wasn't going to happen if he continued to sit on the floor thinking about it.

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Spike's crypt…

Clem looked up from his bucket-o'-chicken when he heard the door creaking open. He hadn't been expecting visitors. That could mean only two things: either something big and nasty had decided to take up residence in what it thought was an empty crypt, or… Nah. Couldn't be Spike. He'd've made a bigger entrance. Which could only mean that it was the Big Nasty Thing.

Putting down the bucket, Clem rose from the armchair and looked for something he could use as a weapon. He found a large piece of wood and tested it for strength, then, wielding it in what he hoped was a menacing way, he hid behind the chair and waited.

His floppy ears pricked up – metaphorically – when he heard someone drop down into the basement of the crypt. He waited. The Thing didn't move.

"Hello?" called a voice. It was a very high-pitched Thing. Clem waited. "Anyone here?"

The Thing took a step or two forwards, and Clem made his move. He leapt out suddenly from behind the chair and let out a war-cry, thrashing wildly with the piece of wood. He dropped it just as suddenly when the Thing – now identified as a small, brown-haired girl – screamed, which in turn set Clem off screaming, too.

They screamed at each other for a good five seconds, and then Dawn recovered and smacked him, repeatedly. "Jesus, Clem! You scared the life out of me!"

The demon fended off her blows as best he could, cowering. "S-sorry! I thought you were a demon!"

Dawn stopped hitting him. "Gee, that's reassuring…"

Clem stood up straight and looked at her. He recognised her – it had been a while since he'd seen her – but he couldn't quite think where from… Then, he remembered. "Hey, I know you… You're the Slayer's sister, right? Dawn?"

"Yeah," she muttered. "One of these days someone'll remember me as just 'Dawn' without the 'Slayer's sister' part."

"What brings you here?"

"Dunno," she admitted. "I was just walking and ended up here… I used to come here a lot."

"Oh." Clem smiled widely. "Well, I don't have much in the way of food, but…" He picked up the bucket and offered it to her. "You can have some chicken if you want."

She waved a hand. "I'll pass…" Her gaze turned to the television. "Whatcha watchin'?"

"Oh, nothing, really… whatever's on…"

Dawn nodded. She'd almost hoped Spike would be home. She supposed, though, that Clem's company was currently better than her sister's. "You mind if I crash here for a while?"

"Yeah, why not. I'm sure Spike wouldn't mind."

The mere mention of Spike suddenly set Dawn off into floods of tears. Clem panicked, not used to small girls breaking down in front of him, and manoeuvred her into the armchair. Dawn attempted to calm down while he went about searching for something, muttering under his breath. "I'm sure I had a Kleenex around here somewhere… Where'd I put that?" Then, he found it, stuck in one of the folds of his arms. He plucked it out and offered it to her. By this point, she'd recovered.

"Ew… no, thanks…" She sniffed.

Clem shrugged and tucked the Kleenex back where it had come from, in case he needed it later, then knelt in front of Dawn. "What was all that about?"

"Nothing. Sorry…"

"Now, I'm no expert, but from what I know about mortals, they don't usually cry over nothing…"

"It's just… I was kinda hoping Spike might be back, but…" She let the sentence linger.

"Oh… Well, you can see he's not." Seeing that she looked to be on the verge of tears again, he added. "But hey… don't get upset… Good ol' Clem'll set you to rights."

"Thanks…" Then, it occurred to her. If Clem was looking after the crypt, he probably had a pretty good idea of Spike's whereabouts. "Hey, Clem… I don't suppose… Do you know where he is?"

Clement shifted nervously, unsure whether to tell her. Then, seeing the desperate, pleading look in her eyes, he decided he'd better tell her. "Yeah…"

"Really?" she asked, excitedly. "Where? Clem, you gotta tell me, please!"

"He's… he's in Africa…"

Dawn had been hoping it was somewhere she could take a bus to, not the other side of the world. Her face dropped. "Wh-what's he doing in Africa?"

"He went to get his chip out."

"_What?_" She couldn't believe he'd do that. "Why?"

"I'm not sure. He said he'd done something bad…" Dawn knew what he'd done even if Clem didn't. "He said that he couldn't stop thinking about Buffy – he seemed real guilty about something – and he thought it was the chip in his head, making him feel like that. He said he wanted to give the Slayer what she deserved, whatever that means."

That made sense. Realising and admitting that he loved Buffy had only happened after the Initiative put the chip in his head. Dawn didn't think it was responsible, however; she knew it was some deeply buried, inherent goodness in him that made him love her. He'd loved Dru, after all. What didn't make sense was where he was. "But… why Africa?"

"That's kinda my fault," admitted Clem, grudgingly. "I told him about this cousin of mine who'd gone to see some shaman in Africa…"

"Clem!"

"Sorry! I didn't think he'd take it seriously!"

"It's Spike, you idiot! You know what he's like when he gets some stupid scheme in his head!"

"I know, I know…"

Seeing that it really wasn't directly Clem's fault, Dawn calmed down. "Okay, did he say when he'd come back?"

"Afraid not. He didn't even say _if_ he'd come back."

"You… you mean he might have gone for good?" Clem nodded. "Oh, God… he can't… he has to come back."

Clem placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure he will. He left all his stuff here."

Dawn nodded. Everything was starting to make sense. Spike had left because he couldn't face what he'd done, not because of something Buffy had said to him, although she suspected Buffy must have said _something_ to him afterwards. She did have that wonderful way with words. Getting up from the chair, she said, "Thanks, Clem. It's so much better now I know where he is."

"No problem."

Dawn looked down at the duster she was still wearing. "He… uh… he left this at our house that night. I've been looking after it for him, but… maybe I should leave it here for him. You know, for when he comes back?"

"Why don't you keep a hold of it, Dawn. Then you can give it to him in person."

That sounded like a _much_ better idea, and she beamed. "Yeah. Yeah, I will…."

__

Africa; clinch time…

The glowy-eyed shaman watched the entrance to his lair with interest, waiting for what he knew was coming. In a few minutes, the chipped, and now souled, vampire would crawl back to him. He'd almost considered not keeping his promise and making him find his own way back home. After all, he'd managed to get to Africa just fine, so surely he could leave the same way.

Then, he considered that he probably owed it to him. After all, he _did _make a mistake, not removing the chip. And it would only be a tiny thing to do, really, sending him back. Just a wave of the arm and a brief incantation and it would all be over, and the stupid vampire would be gone.

Right on cue, Spike trudged through the cave entrance, head held high to make it look like he was trudging at all. He looked the shaman defiantly in the eyes. "Right, mate. Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

The shaman blinked, momentarily shrouding the cave in blackness. "You're early."

"I know. I can wait."

Silence descended as the shaman mentally ticked off the seconds in his head. Spike continued to glower at him – for such a small creature, he was certainly persistent. Eventually, the time came and the shaman looked across at the blond vampire. "Are you ready?"

"About bloody time," muttered Spike. "Yeah. Just send me back, already!"

"As you wish…"

The shaman lifted an arm and swept it dramatically, mumbling something under his breath. Using his magic, he lifted the vampire effortlessly into midair, and, with a gesture of his raised arm, hurled him out of the cave. This all happened within a split second. Spike, only vaguely aware of what was happening, was enveloped in a blinding flash of white light and then his world turned black…

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To be continued…

Okay, I'm sorry! I know I said I'd bring him back this chapter, but… what can I say, it was already too long and the return I have planned is going to take a while. Anyway, I'm the Queen of the Evil Cliffhanger. Reviews'll get it here much faster, don'tcha know…


	10. Chapter Ten

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A/N: There were lots of questions in reviews, so I'll attempt to answer them…

First off, for "Cold Trust", thanks to all those who noticed that I got the name wrong… I'll add in a section at the end where Buffy corrects him for y'all to have a laugh at ;) (I knew I'd get it wrong. I've only seen the episode once; am I forgiven?)

Anyone who wants Anya/Giles: I'm not an A/G-er and as such am not entirely sure if I could write it. The fic is going to have several relationships explored, including some unexpected ones, so A/G will be thought about if not written. I'll see what I can do, but I promise nothing.

Darryl J – (still lovin' your fic, btw!) you asked that Spike kick Xander's arse. Your wish is my command. Actually, I had something planned along those lines…

To the "fan of my fiction", whoever you are – you want longer chapters?? I'm trying to cut them down!

FireLily and all the other B/S shippers – I'm gettin' to it! Remember how I said this was turning into a beast of a fic? Well, I'm not only Queen of Cliffhangers, but Queen of Angst (check out reviews for some of my "Farscape" stuff for proof :D), and Queen of Dragging Things Out Over Long Periods of Time. There will be fluff. Eventually. I'm just gonna make you all suffer for a while, first…

Anyway, here's Chapter 10, revamped and made longer. I have a penchant for big-eyed-Spike – you know, the kicked-puppy look – so just imagine this entire chapter with him ;) Enjoy =)

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Chapter Ten

Buffy had long since given up worrying about her sister, and now, at eleven o'clock, she'd pretty much given up on staying awake, too. Dawn would come home when it suited her; Buffy had done the same at sixteen and really didn't have a right to reprimand her for it. In fact, Buffy had done the same without her mother knowing where she was, or that she was even out. At least she knew where Dawn was, or, at least, had a pretty good idea. So, having made sure that Giles and Anya were comfortable (he had decided to try and sleep in a chair in the end, leaving Anya to the couch), Buffy had announced 'lights out' in the house, and retreated to the momentarily safe haven of her bedroom.

She curled up into a protective ball under the covers and waited patiently for sleep to inevitably take over. Tonight, she was, thankfully, too exhausted to think about Spike - working double shifts _did_ have some advantages other than the extra pay – and lying there, pleasantly not thinking about him, and only semi-worried about Dawn, Buffy drifted off into slumber…

The permeating blackness cleared from Spike's vision and was replaced by a slightly-less-blinding-than-before white light. This light then turned a very pleasant, calm shade of pale blue, then darkened to a deep navy, almost black again. A portal formed, and began to pull him in. Since all of this occurred literally in the blink of an eye, he had very little choice in the matter. The next thing he knew, the magic had ended and he was fully aware of what was happening.

What was happening turned out to be him falling through the air in a downwards direction, at great speed, hitting something soft, bouncing once, and landing in a heap on a hard floor almost immediately afterwards. He groaned, previously broken bones now aching even more from the impact, and attempted to work out where he was.

Buffy woke with a start when something heavy landed at the foot of her bed and bounced off, frightening the life out of her. She sat straight up, noticing the strange, bluish light in her ceiling and passing it off as the end of a dream, reached for a stake, then crawled cautiously to the end of the bed to find out what had woken her up. Whatever it was, it was groaning in agony, having lost an argument with the floor. She peered over the edge of the bed.

It was human-shaped, and male-shaped, and was curled into a ball with its (or his) back to her. The man was clad in black jeans, faded, and covered in sand, and his bare back was dotted with lacerations and burns. Then, she noticed the oh-so-familiar shock of bleached-blond hair and froze. It couldn't be…

Spike heard movement behind him and prepared himself to be attacked, turning his head to see his pursuer. He was met with the vision of Buffy about to stake him, and immediately raised his arms to fend off the impending blows. He lowered them after a couple of seconds when none came, and looked up.

Buffy found herself unable to move or to form a coherent thought. It was Spike. He was back. He'd fallen through her ceiling, and was now sprawled on her bedroom floor, shirtless and in pain, and staring up at her with a mixture of far too many emotions in his eyes. The most prominent emotion seemed to be confusion, mirroring her own expression exactly. She stared at him a long time, watching as he twisted his body around to kneel in front of her – he was obviously light-headed from whatever he'd been through and standing up was proving too difficult.

They gazed at each other for a long time, neither entirely certain what to say. Buffy briefly considered that she might be dreaming again, except that the pounding of her heart against her ribcage seemed to prove otherwise. Spike's dark eyes revealed nothing and everything about what he'd been through, telling more than the wounds on his chest and back ever could. There was also something else there, lurking… something she couldn't quite put her finger on, but which was horribly familiar just the same.

Spike waited for Buffy to make a move. He'd expected to be dumped somewhere in town, the cemetery, perhaps, or his crypt ideally. Being dropped straight into Buffy's room wasn't quite what he'd been expecting. Talk about into the lion's den. He knew the easiest and safest thing would have been to run, but at the moment it wasn't an option. Every limb still hurt; whatever the Hell he'd been sent through, it hadn't been the most pleasant of experiences.

Buffy finally dropped the stake, throwing it onto the bed behind her. With her nerves on edge as they were, she didn't want to run the risk of accidentally staking him. The wounds on his back had seemed bad, but those on his chest were far worse – even with his vampire healing, the cuts were deep, and the burns were still raw. There were even what looked like tiny bite marks – hundreds of them. Spike watched her as she looked him over, horror evident on her face.

She still wasn't entirely convinced that her mind wasn't playing tricks on her. Very slowly, she reached out a hand towards him. Spike was curious, but didn't move just in case he frightened her off. Whatever her next action was going to be, it would define how they might continue, and they both needed to see it through.

Buffy's hand continued its slow journey towards him almost of its own volition; Buffy was as curious as him about what she was doing. All her brain could register at that moment was the fact that he was back; she felt completely numb inside and out, and entirely unsure what to do, at least on a conscious level. Her hand kept moving forwards. Finally, it came to rest on his cheek.

With her touch, Spike's resolve completely crumbled. It had been too long since he'd had any physical contact with her. He knew it was a stupid idea to do what he was about to do, but after everything he'd been through, for her, he couldn't care less. Despite the fact that his every muscle was screaming in agony, he covered her hand with his own, then, never tearing his gaze from hers, he very slowly leaned forwards to kiss her.

A split second after their lips met, Buffy's brain re-engaged and logic took over, and she pushed him away. Then, she started hitting him wherever she could reach, regardless of his wounds, shouting at him while she did so. "God dammit, Spike! Where the Hell have you been? And why are you back? Why now? Why _here_? And where have you _been_?!" Her tirade continued in much the same manner as she continued to slap him.

He managed to fend off most of the blows, wincing whenever she didn't miss. Her ranting eventually turned into nonsensical ramblings as a violent sobbing took over, and, with it, she weakened in her attack to such an extent that he was able to seize both her wrists and stop her. It was obvious that she wasn't going to stop crying any time soon, and if he didn't do something she'd end up making herself hyperventilate. So, somewhat nervously after her previous reaction, and ignoring the burning pain all over his chest, Spike pulled her into his arms.

"Shh," he muttered. "You're going to hurt yourself." He rubbed comforting circles on her back and she began to calm down. When her breathing had settled down, she spoke again, quieter, for the moment making no attempt to push away from him.

"Spike… seriously. Where've you been?"

He doubted she could handle it if he told her the truth just yet. "Doesn't matter. It'd take too long to explain, anyway."

Unconsciously, he tightened his hold on her, enjoying the feel of his arms being around her. Then, apparently simultaneously, they both remembered the last time they'd seen each other – in her bathroom – and he let go of her at the same time as she pushed him off. This resulted in Spike getting to his feet, and Buffy propelling herself backwards across the bed. She stared at him with a similar expression in her eyes as before, mixed with curiosity as she tried to figure out what it was that was different.

Spike's guilt came back four-fold, with the added bonus of the soul making him relive the moment word for word, action for action. He didn't move.

Buffy got up from the bed, her eyes never leaving him for fear of him vanishing like he had in the dream. She opened a drawer in her dresser, rummaged around in it briefly, and pulled out something. "Here," she said, throwing it to him. "Take that, and get out." He examined the item – it was, to his surprise, one of his tee-shirts. Before he could question exactly _why_ she had one, she repeated, "I said, get out."

"But-"

"Spike," she frowned. "I can't… I can't do this now, okay?"

"Buffy… please. There's something I have to tell you; it's important."

"No. You cannot just… just _fall_ back into my life and expect me to listen to you. We will talk. Later. But not now, and not here. Just take your shirt and go." She kept her voice low and calm, but they both knew she was close to breaking again. When Spike didn't move, she went to the door and opened it for him, giving him a look that implied if he didn't leave of his own volition, she'd make leave by force.

"Fine." He pulled the shirt over his head. "But we _will_ talk, Slayer. I'm going to hold you to that."

She nodded vaguely and indicated the landing and the stairs beyond. "Don't wake anyone up on your way out." Her obvious dismissal hurt him, and she could tell, but it was too late to take it back. Grudgingly, Spike headed downstairs, Buffy following him a few steps behind.

When he reached the bottom, before he could open the front door, it opened for him, and Dawn came through. She'd not yet mastered climbing back up to her window. She froze in the doorway, not sure whether to fear her sister's wrath, or have some kind of reaction to Spike's sudden presence in the house. She chose the latter, ignoring her sister completely.

"S-Spike…?"

"Yes, Nibblet… 's me."

She swallowed. All the way home, she'd been thinking over the same things as before – missing him, wondering why he'd left, doubting his loyalty, hating him for what he'd nearly done to Buffy, and, since Clem's revelation, paranoid he was going to turn on them all. However, looking at him in front of her, big-eyed and obviously recovering from some terrible ordeal, she instantly dismissed that idea. Having him here, however, was too much for her to deal with and she could think of nothing else to say except: "I… uh… looked after this for you." She took off his duster, then dropped it at his feet before running up the stairs and locking herself in her room.

"Dawn!" called both Buffy and Spike, simultaneously.

At this point, several things happened which resulted in all hell breaking loose in the Summers' house. Firstly, the slamming of Dawn's bedroom door (and before that, the shouting in Buffy's room) had woken up Xander and Willow, and they were now making their way down the staircase. In the lounge, the commotion near the front door had woken Giles and Anya. Every adult member of the Scoobies instantly assembled in the hallway, more or less surrounding Spike and forming a somewhat protective circle behind Buffy, even though they didn't realise it.

Anya was the first to react, her gaze blank. "We were talking about you earlier," she said. "But don't worry. The topic of our sleeping together didn't come up. In fact, it's something none of us would like to remember." Spike looked at her, embarrassed and guilty, unable to think of anything to say, before tearing his gaze away. Unfortunately, the next person he focussed on happened to be Xander.

"So, the Peroxide Wonder finally dragged his sorry ass back to Sunnydale…" he said. "You're damn lucky I don't have a stake on me, Spike. Damn lucky…"

"I'm not in the mood for this, Whelp," muttered Spike, suddenly much more eager to leave.

"Oh. Name-calling. How mature," retorted Xander, rather pointlessly.

Giles, standing close to Anya and directly behind Buffy, stopped yet another argument before it could happen. "Xander…" The accused backed off, and Giles turned to Spike, disdain evident in his eyes. "Now listen here, Spike. I know what's been happening; I know everything. And if you so much as lay a finger on any of these girls-" (he indicated with his head to encompass Buffy, Anya, Willow, and Dawn upstairs) "-I will personally drive a stake through your undead heart."

Nobody had ever seen Giles so murderously protective before, not even Spike, and they were all slightly unnerved. Buffy gave her Watcher a warning look to imply she could fight her own battles with Spike. The vampire took a step closer to the door, shrugging into his duster as he did so. "You'll all be pleased to know I was just leavin'." He opened the door wider, and added, sarcastically: "And thanks for the welcome wagon. 'Preciate it."

Before leaving, he looked at each of them in turn, taking in the loathing on both Xander's and Giles' faces, Anya's blank expression as she avoided his eyes – she'd seen the change in him if nobody else had, and knew what it was – and Buffy's face while she attempted to sort out her feelings. He stared at her a long time, then said, "As for you, love – we need to talk. I'll be waiting…" Finally, he looked at Willow, who'd said nothing throughout. She gave him a small, weak, but genuine smile, and waved one hand in a gesture of farewell. After all, he'd done nothing to her. Spike smiled back, glad that someone wasn't set to kill him, before leaving, closing the door after him.

Everybody watched the door close in silence. Then, every eye in the room turned to Buffy, awaiting an explanation. She sighed. "Everyone just go back to bed. I have to talk to Dawn."

"But-"

"Don't say a word, Xander. I'll… I'll try and explain in the morning, but right now, I have something more important to do." With that, she pushed through their human (and demon) wall and headed upstairs, knocked quietly on Dawn's door, then disappeared inside the room. The rest of the Scoobies all looked at each other with varying expressions of confusion, but said nothing.

It was Willow who broke the eerie silence. "Buffy's right. We should all g-go back to sleep."

"You think I can sleep knowing Bleach Boy was here?" asked Xander. "His very presence disgusts me."

"I know, but… h-he's been through a lot, Xander; can't you tell? Didn't you see his eyes?"

"No," he muttered, semi-comically. "I was too busy trying to make his head explode with the power of my mind."

The ex-Wiccan smiled at his humour, then continued, casting her gaze on Anya as she did so. "There's something different… I-I don't know what, exactly, but…"

"Willow's right," clarified the justice demon. "Spike's very different now. He's-"

"Whatever it is," interrupted Giles, "I'm sure he'll tell us in his own time, or Buffy will. And I agree – we should all try and go back to sleep and let Buffy deal with this in her own way."

There was a collective nod of agreement, and the group separated, Willow and Xander heading back upstairs, and Giles and Anya returning to the living room. They'd all forgotten how much _fun_ it was having Spike around. Normality had returned to their lives along with him, and pretty soon things would start feeling like old times again…

Spike threw open the door to his crypt with such force that it banged on the wall and frightened the life out of Clem, who was fast asleep in the chair, a re-run of _Passions_ playing on the television. He'd been right – Spike definitely made a big entrance. The demon got up just as Spike slammed the door again and dropped heavily down into the basement of his still rather charred crypt, his expression bleak and apparently incredibly annoyed. Before saying anything, he rooted around in the pocket of his duster, and, relieved, pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He lit up gratefully and took a long drag, his mood lightening slightly as he did so.

Clem broke the ice, raising a hand in greeting. "Hey, buddy."

"Clem," Spike said, nodding.

"I kept the place nice 'n' tidy for you."

Spike looked around, took in the empty chicken buckets, and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. So I see…"

Clem immediately set about tidying them up, muttering. "Was gonna get rid of those…" He collected them all, deposited them behind the television out of sight, and smiled sheepishly. "So, um… how did it go? Get your chip out?"

Spike merely glared. Then, realising Clem couldn't read his mind, he explained. "No. Bloody shaman got it wrong, didn't he?"

"So… he left it in?"

The vampire nodded, tossing the cigarette at a wall, bored of it despite the fact he'd been craving one for weeks. He just didn't have the energy. "Not only that, the soddin' idiot gave me a soul to go with it. As if bein' Love's Bitch wasn't bad enough already…"

"A soul?"

"A soul."

Clem looked sympathetic. He'd had the unfortunate experience of having to listen to a drunken Spike rambling on about Angel's brooding, and how he swore he'd never be like that. It now seemed to be becoming something of a reality. He placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Whoa… buddy… that's… real bad. But, hey, if y'ever need to brood, I won't tell anyone."

"Damn right you bloody won't." Clem smiled; at least he hadn't lost his sense of humour. "Do me a favour, mate. If I ever end up like Peaches, bein' all high-and-mighty and trying to save the world, promise me you'll cut my head off."

"Only if I can live here afterwards," he said, thoughtfully.

Spike shook his hand. "You got yourself a deal, Clement."

An awkward silence descended, then Clem started rambling. "Uh… Dawn was here earlier. I had to tell her where you were, but… I think she took it okay. Said she was looking after your… oh, well, she must have given it back… so that means you've seen her already?" Spike nodded, just about getting the gist of what he was on about. "Right. So that means you've spoken to the Slayer, too?"

He nodded again. "Well, 'spoken to' is probably too strong an expression. 'Fell through her ceiling and scared the life out of her then tried to kiss her' is probably nearer the mark."

"Huh?"

"The shaman. He sent me back. _Right_ back. Straight into Buffy's room, of all places." Clem nodded, the "oh" implied. "She wouldn't even talk to me. Can't say I blame her, though. Think I scared the Nibblet half to death, too."

"Nah…" The soft voice came from behind him, causing him to tense. "She was just surprised to see you."

Spike, however, was even more surprised to hear what he'd just heard. This was exactly the last thing he'd been expecting. Without turning around, found his voice, and stammered, "B-Buffy…?"

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To be continued…

Meep… Sorry. Don't hurt me. I was going to have the B/S conversation at the end of this chapter, but as I type this author's note, it's still not done and it's ALREADY too long, so I'll make it the entire of chapter 11 instead… But this'll do to whet your appetites; a sneak preview:

"Anyway. I thought it was all to do with that bloody chip. The guilt… being in love with you… all of it. So I went to Africa to see this shaman bloke and asked him to make me what I was, so I could give you what you deserved."

She looked incredulous, having read between the lines and come to the logical conclusion. "You went to get the chip out?"

"Short of ripping out my undead heart, Buffy, what else could I do?" His tone was bitter as he said this, and she winced, only slightly. It was still enough that he noticed, however, and he carried on, owing her an explanation. "So, he put me through a load of trials; all sorts of things. Fighting big buggers with torches, beetle swarms - you name it, I probably went through it." Realisation dawned, as the scars she'd seen suddenly made sense.

"God…"

There… just a taster for what's to come :D Meanwhile, keep the reviews rolling!


	11. Chapter Eleven

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

A/N: And lo, there was the Buffy/Spike conversation… This is one of those things that I just let write itself. Sometimes it's just easier that way. The characters did their own dialogue, and I filled in their thought patterns, which accounts for why this is so random and, basically, odd. However, it IS angst, which is just how I like things to be done ;)

The fic is far from over. I've barely even started yet… Reviews make me a happy author, so keep 'em coming :D

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Cradle

Chapter Eleven

Spike's ears were apparently not deceiving him, as the reply came, again from behind him. "The one and only."

He turned, having regained control of his motor functions, and they stared at each other from across the room. Clem looked from one to the other, a goofy smile on his face, then realised he probably wasn't wanted. "I'll… um… I'll let you… uh… talk." He made himself very quickly scarce.

They stood a reasonable distance apart and continued to stare across the void. Spike had a Hell of a lot of things he wanted to say, and he knew that simply blurting in with an "I'm sorry" wasn't going to cut it. Instead, he stayed on common, safe ground. "So… Dawn's fine?"

Buffy swallowed her nerves, still recovering from having him practically land on her a few hours earlier. "Y-yeah. Just a little shaken up at seeing you back."

"Right."

The Slayer took a step forwards. "Okay. You wanted to talk, so let's talk. You can start with where you've been, why you left, and how the heck you ended up in my bedroom."

"That's my starter for three, is it?" he asked, rhetorically. "Afraid not, love. See, I've got this sorted in my head. Or thought I had. Plan was, I got sent back to Sunnydale, sought you out, apologised, then spent the next few weeks living with you hating me, until I managed to make you realise you loved me." He removed his duster, throwing it over the back of the armchair. "But that all went a bit wrong, didn't it?"

"I think I prefer my way," she said, her voice emotionless. Spike could tell it was forced, however.

"Fine," he muttered. "We'll do this your way. You, uh, might wanna sit down for this." He gestured in the vague direction of his sparse furniture. Buffy chose the couch, sitting down and on her hands so she wouldn't be forced to fidget. Spike remained standing and leaned on a wall, wincing as one of his wounds complained at the contact.

"I'm sitting," she pointed out when he still hadn't started explaining. "So let's get this over with."

Spike gazed at her, attempting to figure out what sort of a mood she was in. Could he get away with jokes? Was she expecting him to pour his heart out to her? Her expression was completely blank, however, so he decided to just get it over with. "First question," he clarified, "was where I've been." Buffy nodded. Matter-of-factly, as if he did such a thing every day of his unlife, he said, "Africa."

"Africa?"

"That's what I said."

"Doubtless the 'why you left' part will cover that…"

"Yeah." He took a deep, unnecessary breath, and prepared himself for the worst. "I left after… that night." Neither of them particularly wanted to remember that, so he hastily carried on. "I just couldn't stand it any more. Do you realise, Slayer, that was only the second time I've felt guilty in over a century? The first time was after you died… your buddies'll all tell you that much." He was digressing a little far from his point, so he stopped, and regrouped his thoughts before continuing. "Anyway. I thought it was all to do with that bloody chip. The guilt… being in love with you… all of it. So I went to Africa to see this shaman bloke and asked him to make me what I was, so I could give you what you deserved."

She looked incredulous, having read between the lines and come to the logical conclusion. "You went to get the chip out?"

"Short of ripping out my undead heart, Buffy, what else could I do?" His tone was bitter as he said this, and she winced, only slightly. It was still enough that he noticed, however, and he carried on, owing her an explanation. "So, he put me through a load of trials; all sorts of things. Fighting big buggers with torches, beetle swarms - you name it, I probably went through it." Realisation dawned, as the scars she'd seen suddenly made sense.

"God…" She shuddered at the thought, then shook it off. "Well, you're still here, so I'll assume you passed them all."

"You'd be assuming correctly. I _did_ pass, just; damn near killed me, though." This would, ordinarily, be the part where he told her about the soul. Except it didn't feel like the right time, not yet, so he skirted around it. "The shaman kept his end of the deal and granted my request, then, to cut a long story short, made me wait three weeks in the blistering African heat before he sent me back here. I wasn't anticipating to fall straight through your bloody bedroom ceiling, though, believe me. Oh, and incidentally, your floor is really hard."

"I apologise," she said, sarcastically. "I'll install nice, fluffy pillows, should you feel to drop in unannounced again…"

He ignored the comment. "Well, that's the long and short of it, love. But we're not done talking, yet."

"You're damn right we're not," she said, getting up from the couch and pacing. "You left without a word. Not that I cared, not after what you did. But Dawn, Spike… you didn't even say goodbye to her. She knows, by the way. About what happened. Xander told her."

"Wanker… How did _he_ find out?"

"He found me in the bathroom- Look, it doesn't matter. It's old news, and I do _not_ want to discuss it."

"Giles knows, too, doesn't he? It's not like him to make death threats without good reason."

"He does… because I told him everything about a week ago."

"So the happy band of Scoobies is back together again, huh?" She nodded. "Hey, wait a minute… Giles is back… When?" Then something else dawned on him. "And where's Tara?"

Buffy's head dropped. She'd forgotten that Spike had missed the entire apocalypse situation. "A lot of stuff happened while you were gone. Right _after_ you were gone, actually… We managed to separate the three geeks, got Jonathan and that other one thrown in jail. Warren got away… for about a day. Then, he came back, with a gun, and tried to kill me." Spike, concern etched into his features, made to move towards her, but she gestured for him to back off. "I'm fine… But Tara… she… she got the second bullet that was meant for me… she died. In Willow's arms."

"Oh my God…" Spike shook his head in disbelief. "Poor girl. I liked her. She was one of the good ones…"

"Yeah, she was." Buffy sniffed. "Afterwards, Willow just went crazy and absorbed all this Dark Magic. She pulled the bullet out of me – saved my life, in fact – then went after Warren on this insane rampage. We ended up having to protect Jonathan and his buddy from her. Willow tried to hurt us all; she nearly turned Dawn back into energy, ended up fighting me… and that's when Giles appeared with a load of borrowed magic, to battle her. His plan went horribly wrong and she decided to try and end the world. Dawn and I were stuck underground fighting off earth-monsters, Anya was trying to keep Giles alive after Willow practically ripped him apart along with the Magic Box, and Xander… well… saved everyone."

"The Whelp?" She nodded. "How?"

She shrugged. "What I heard, he just… told her he loved her."

Spike snorted somewhat derisively. "If only it was that simple all the time." He looked at her. "So even if I hadn't succeeded in the trials, it really wouldn't have mattered much, would it? I'd've ended up dead either way."

Buffy rounded on him, all of her previous frustration finally coming to a head. "You think you had it so bad, don't you, just because you had to undergo some stupid trials! We needed you, Spike, down in that crypt with the nasties. _I_ needed you to protect Dawn, and you weren't there…"

Equally frustrated, Spike started yelling back at her. "I did it all for _you_, Slayer! I left because of what I'd done, to you. I wanted the chip out so I could get revenge, on you, or so I thought. The bloody shaman showed me what I really wanted, and it wasn't vengeance. So before you start worrying about me going off and killing all your little friends, don't – the sodding chip's still in my head, and I have a sparkly new soul to go with it…"

They both stopped dead still as his sentence trailed off, Spike in shock at his letting it slip, and Buffy figuring out how to react. She chose anger. "Oh… I get it… You think that you can just go off and get a soul and I'll fall into your arms. Doesn't work like that, Spike…"

"Maybe not. After all, I'm not your precious Angel, am I? I never will be, and I'm not trying to be." His tone softened again, and he retreated to his armchair, sinking into it heavily. "The last thing I wanted was to turn into the annoying broody type, but I'm beginning to see the advantages…"

Buffy refused to be taken in by what she assumed to be an act to gain sympathy. Her anger had dissipated, though, but it meant she resorted to cruel jibes instead. "Well. I guess that'll teach you not to eat people, won't it. Or try to rape them." She'd forgiven him, and told herself, her sister, and Giles the same thing… but she was definitely not ready to admit that to Spike. He looked up at her, his expression suddenly different, more pleading.

"Buffy… please…"

"Please what?"

"Listen to me… I've relived that night so many times I've lost count; you have absolutely no idea how much it hurts. And I know that no amount of apologies in the world would be enough."

"You're right," she agreed. "And what makes you think I'd accept any apology you make?" Spike could do nothing but stare at her. He was sure they'd be able to talk it through like grown ups, but apparently, all Buffy wanted to do was make him feel worse. "I could never accept it, Spike…" she continued, "not when there's so much I have to apologise for, too."

That one threw him for a loop and it took him several seconds to react. "Like what?" She didn't answer; she hadn't been anticipating this part of the conversation, and both of their mouths had run away with them. In truth, she wasn't ready to deal with even _thinking _about the implications of Spike's having a soul, and was attempting to avoid the issue completely. She moved back to the couch she'd recently vacated and sat down heavily. When she still hadn't answered, Spike got up from the chair and moved to stand closer so he could see her better. "Buffy?" he pushed.

"I used you…" she murmured.

"We've been over this one, love," Spike said, quietly.

"I know…" Dropping her head so she wouldn't have to face him, she said, "I'm sorry. For… for everything. Using you. Putting you down. Not believing you."

"Oh."

"Oh? Is that all you've got to say?"

"Gimme a chance, here, pet… I wasn't expecting a full-blown apology from you."

"Well, you got one."

"Yeah." There was a brief pause, as Spike decided to risk decapitation and sat on the opposite end of the couch, a safe distance from her. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry, too. More than you know." They sat there, next to each other but not touching, both staring at the floor as he continued. "You remember I said that every night after you died, I dreamt that I saved you?" He sensed rather than saw her nod. "Well, every night in Africa after I got the soul, I dreamt that I managed to stop myself before…" He trailed off and let it linger, not really wanted to carry on.

After a few seconds, Buffy looked across at him. He was leaning forwards, head in his hands. She could tell he'd changed; gone was the cocky, sarcastic Spike she'd known only a month or so ago, and in his place was a broken, hurting shell, battling with his own memories. He was a far cry from being like Angel had been, but, then again, he hadn't been given the soul as a punishment like Angel had. Buffy doubted that Spike was seeing it that way, though; he appeared to be struggling with something even as she watched him.

Spike sensed her staring at him and looked up, straight across at her. She noticed for the first time that his eyes were red-rimmed as if he'd spent the last week crying – she supposed that was a logical side effect of receiving a soul and coping with it for the first time – and then, shocked, she saw all the pain and hurt of over a century's-worth of victims reflecting back at her as he relived them all, one by one. He was wearing the exact same expression as he had in her bathroom, right after she'd kicked him across the room, only the remorse and guilt were three times worse and far more obvious. She had to look away.

"Spike," she said, her voice trying to be reassuring. "We both know that nothing happened that night…"

"No… but it could have. Because I was too stubborn to notice that you didn't want me in your life anymore."

"I'll agree with you on the last point." She aimed for a humorous tone, but was only partly successful. "But… but you have to stop beating yourself up over it. Nothing happened. Okay, something nearly did… and it's probably partially my fault for coming to you in the first place, all that time ago… but you did nothing wrong." She hoped she sounded convincing enough that he'd believe her without his personal guilt trip taking it the wrong way.

He smiled a weak smile of gratitude. "Thanks, Slayer…" The smile disappeared again. "I'm not gonna ask for your forgiveness, though. Don't think I deserve that, somehow."

Buffy looked up again, so he could see she was serious when she replied, "You don't have to."

Well, it wasn't an 'I forgive you', but it would do. Spike smiled again, wider. Neither of them knew how to continue, and an awkward silence filled the air of the crypt as his smile fell. He'd realised what had been inevitable from the moment she arrived. "So… this is it, then… This is the part where you tell me it really is over."

Buffy said nothing. She still wasn't ready to admit just how much she'd missed him, but, despite the fact she'd forgiven him, being around him still reminded her of that night, and it still hurt her to think about it. When he appeared in her room only a few hours previously, it had taken every ounce of her will power not to throw her arms around him and never let go; she was still irritated with herself for breaking down in hysterical tears in front of him. He'd nearly kissed her – that had been like a jolt of electricity in her brain, telling her to be sensible.

Spike wasn't good for her, and she wasn't good for him, and if they carried on like they had been, they'd end up destroying each other. Now… how to tell _him_ that…

Sadly, she finally said, "Spike, it was always over. You know that."

He nodded. "Yeah, well, it was a nice sort of 'over' while it lasted…"

They'd reached that stage of serious conversation where neither of them really knew what they were saying, but everything made perfect sense in their heads. Neither of them particularly seemed to care, either. Then, in a sudden burst of pro-activity, Buffy got to her feet. "I should go. Gotta work tomorrow."

Spike made no effort to stop her, at first, merely continued staring at his feet. Before she reached the ladder and the trapdoor, however, he suddenly got to his feet, attracting her attention again. "Buffy, wait…" She raised her eyebrows to indicate that she would comply, for the moment, and waited for him to continue. He felt like a teenager trying to ask out his crush. In fact, he felt like William the Bloody Awful Poet again. Very quietly, knowing it was pathetic, but not really caring, he asked, "Am I going to see you again?"

The question, in its innocence, surprised her. "Uh… Maybe. Dawn'll probably want to see you so I can't say 'no' and stick to it, reasonably. But… I think we both need time. _I _need time…"

"Yeah. 'Course." He waved his hand to indicate she could leave. She got halfway up the ladder when he spoke again, not looking in her direction. "You're the reason I came back, y'know…" Buffy dropped down again. He'd obviously got some things he needed to say and she couldn't leave without letting him do so. "How's that for feeble-bloody-minded? I left because of you and then couldn't stand being away from you. Truth be told, I missed you every soddin' second I was there…"

He raised his head to meet her gaze, infinite sadness in his eyes. Buffy hoped beyond hope that he wouldn't start crying; she wasn't sure she could handle it if he did. "See, the thing with this soul is, it… it hurts. Every single moment, every memory, the whole package. If I'd thought I could cope with this on my own, I'd be elsewhere right now, not botherin' you or anyone else again. 'Cept I can't. Cope with it. And…" He lost the battle with his pride, and fell to his knees directly in front of her, grabbing onto her as if his life depended on it. To both their surprise, she didn't push him off. With his head on her stomach, he sputtered out, "I need you, Buffy… I can't… can't do this… alone."

Despite her better judgement, Buffy let sympathy win her emotional battle. She ran a hand softly over his hair in a vague gesture of comfort, slightly shaken by his sudden show of weakness. "Spike-" A loud sob cut her off, which he'd obviously tried to stifle and failed. She tried again. "Spike, get up. Come on…" He did the exact opposite, holding on tighter; she reached around behind her and prised his hands away, tugging on them slightly to make him move. "C'mon… you're gonna hate yourself for this in the morning…"

He shook his hands from her grasp and let them drop limply at his sides, staring at the floor. "'Bout time I had something else to hate myself for-"

"Stop it!" Her raised voice caused him to look up, tear-streaked face strangely curious. She'd adopted the same expression she used when Dawn was being stubborn, and it somehow had the desired effect of making him get to his feet, finally, although he said nothing. "Good… Now. Listen. I know it's all horrible right now; I imagine this is a lot like how it was for me when I… came back. But you're stronger than this; I know you are. You don't need me-"

"Yes, I-"

"No, you don't." He obviously wasn't going to believe her. She frowned. "Let me put it another way. I am not going to be the one who sticks Band-Aids on all your scrapes, or… or kisses it all better. You won't be alone - you can see Dawn. Or Dawn can see you. Whichever works best. But I can't make the pain go away, Spike. I've been through that once with Angel, and I'm _not_ doing it again, you hear me?"

He nodded, numbly. "S-sorry… I never thought about that. Bloody idiot…" he chastised himself. Then, a glimmer of the old Spike, the one she knew and… knew, resurfaced. "But I'm not going to lie to you about how I feel, Buffy."

"Didn't think you would. I think I preferred it when you hated me; life was easier that way."

"Yeah, well, there's a fine line between love and hate, pet. A heartbeat." For some reason, Buffy found the profound statement incredibly moving. "I thought I could jump that line; thought it would be that easy, to just switch back, with the shaman's help. But the heart wants what it wants… and mine, as non-functional as it is, still wants you." Unbidden, memories of whatever had constituted as their past together came back. With all the honesty and sincerity he could muster, he said, "I love you. Probably always bloody will. I won't make you stay, or get back to where we left off, but… just promise me you won't… leave me. I can't handle it."

Buffy, blinking back tears of her own when she realised how serious he was, could do nothing but nod weakly. "I… I promise."

Content with that, and knowing that she meant it somehow, Spike stared at her for a few seconds as he tried to think of something else to say. Nothing came, except, "Thank you."

After a moment, they came to an unspoken agreement that the Conversation was officially finished. Buffy started to make her way back up to the upper level of the crypt as he watched her. She disappeared from view momentarily, then stuck her head through the open trapdoor again. "It's… good to have you back," she admitted quickly, then vanished again.

Spike waited until her footsteps were no longer audible before collapsing into the armchair with a half-bottle of strong vodka. He certainly hadn't expected his return to be balloons and fireworks, but he'd had no idea whatsoever that it would end up being so damn difficult. He couldn't cope with any more soul-induced guilt trips tonight, so, flipping on the television, he drowned his sorrows in the alcohol, and hoped he'd pass out before sanity kicked in and reminded him of his pathetic display earlier on…

Outside, in the cemetery, Buffy had managed to get approximately two metres from the crypt door before her knees gave way. She was now sitting on a small headstone, head in her hands, wondering how on Earth she was going to get Spike through it all. Her Slayer training didn't cover vampire psychotherapy. In the back of her mind, she wondered, only briefly, if Spike's soul had the same conditions that Angel's had…

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To be continued…

Right. There we go. Angst by the barrel and a teense of fluff thrown in, too. Can you tell I like angstySpike? I think I might make him brood. It'll look everso pretty ;) Anyhoo, Chapter 12 might have a slight delay since my Muses are now taking a breather, and because I haven't a single clue exactly what to do next… so… yeah. I'll add something to "Cold Trust" or something… Keep an eye out! Reviews welcomed, thank you.


	12. Chapter Twelve

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc as on first chapter.

A/N: This chapter doesn't really go anywhere, but I just thought Anya needed some more to do, so this is the start of her reintegration. Some one on one conversation with Willow (and Buffy, to some degree). I still have no idea whether this'll end up A/G or A/X, because it depends entirely on how strongly it ends up being W/X… so we'll see how it goes. (Besides which, before I was a B/S-er, I was a B/G-er…) Anyway, you'll be glad to know I now have the basis of something resembling a plot (yes! A plot!) in my head, including what the 'big bad' is going to be. (Several hints have already been dropped throughout, actually.) For now, at least, enjoy this incredibly pointless chapter.

(PS: Spot the obligatory "Sunset Boulevard" reference, although for those that know the film/musical, it's really not that difficult… Just another of my obsessions. I'm trying to fit it into every non-Sunset fic I do just to see if it's possible…)

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Cradle

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Chapter Twelve

Buffy returned home just as it was getting light, having spent the entire rest of her night sitting on the same headstone, just plucking up enough courage to get up and _not_ go back to Spike's crypt. She was too close as it was, and she knew that he knew she was out there. Eventually, as the sun began to rise, and she was certain he wouldn't venture out to follow her (at least, that's what she told herself), she headed home.

She got back just before five, and closed the door quietly so as not to wake everyone, before tiptoeing up the stairs. She was stopped in her tracks by Anya's frantic whisper.

"Buffy!"

The Slayer gestured for Anya to come closer so they wouldn't wake Giles. "What is it, Anya?"

The justice demon leaned closer, and, looking around conspiratorially in case they were being listened to, said, "Spike's… uh… got a soul. Hasn't he?"

Buffy's eyes widened. "How did you…?" Then she realised that Anya, being of the demonic ilk, was bound to have noticed just by looking at him. She nodded. "Yeah, he has."

"Well, I know it's not my place to say this – and I'll understand if you decide to ignore my advice – but I think he's going to need you to help him through it."

Buffy blinked at her. Anya, of all people, was being insightful, and she was also right. "He seemed to think so, too," she said, thoughtfully. Snapping out of it, she nodded again. "Thanks, Anya."

With that, she headed up the stairs. Anya watched her go, briefly considered sleep until she heard Giles snoring from the armchair, then realised it would most likely be impossible. She made her way upstairs to the bathroom, intending to get a headstart on being up and about, since she was now awake and fairly alert. She could surprise them all by making breakfast.

Upon emerging from the bathroom, she noticed, in the dim, early-morning light, that Willow's bedroom door was open. Ordinarily, Anya would have thought nothing of it and ignored it, but then she heard the quiet, anguished moan emanating from inside. Curiosity piqued, she approached and peered inside.

It was dark, but still light enough that she could see. Willow was evidently having some kind of nightmare, as she was writing under the covers and talking in her sleep, and her face was set in an expression of utter despair. Next to her, dead to the world, Xander had crashed out, practically unconscious, his legs hanging over the end of the bed. He'd obviously been sitting watching over her before exhaustion had set in and caused him to keel over where he sat.

He couldn't hear Willow's cries, and therefore couldn't comfort her. Rather nervously, Anya entered the room completely and headed over to perch on Willow's side of the bed (which, in fact, had used to be Tara's side.) The red head calmed momentarily, sensing the presence in her sleep even though she had no idea who it was, and Anya relaxed. She hadn't been entirely sure how to calm her down. Just as she was about to leave, something compelled her not to. Instead, she remained where she was, and watched Xander sleeping.

He looked troubled, as they all did lately (Giles had gone to sleep with a frown on his face), and yet oddly peaceful, too. Anya had always enjoyed watching him sleep; sometimes, his facial muscles would twitch involuntarily, or he'd smile or frown at something in his dreams. She noted, only half-aware, that it still happened. At times like this, she felt like trying again with him, to 'forgive-and-forget', as so many people seemed to say. Then, he'd open his mouth and the spell would be broken again, and she'd remember the frightened child who couldn't handle marrying her. She was a centuries-old vengeance demon, and, although in the body of a twenty-year old girl who seemed outwardly naïve about the world, had seen more and done more than Xander probably ever would in his remaining mortal years. Reflecting, she wondered how they'd ever managed to make it work, with such a ridiculously large age difference.

But then again, she'd heard that relationships with an age gap could work. Maybe, with some patience on both their parts, they could start over, although Anya doubted that either of them would want to try 'the marriage thing' again. "Well," she muttered to herself, sighing, "it worked for Norma Desmond. Of course, she did end up shooting-"

Her verbal thought process was cut off by Willow again, as one of her moans turned into something more identifiable. "No… no… Tara!" Anya winced. This was the one thing she'd hoped she wouldn't have to deal with. Willow's head began to shake from side to side. "No, you can't die. You can't leave me, baby…"

Her arms were now starting to flail about, so Anya intervened before she ended up getting hit. Somehow managing to grasp both of Willow's wrists in one hand, more by luck than judgement, she placed her other palm tentatively on her hair, attempting to calm her.

To her surprise, Willow shot up to a sitting position, her back ram-rod straight, and looked about herself wildly. She focussed her attention on Anya only briefly before looking away again, still caught up in her half-nightmare. Anya gasped when she saw her eyes. They were dark, nearly black, and not simply because of the low lighting; Anya could see the Dark Magic within her, still lurking and trying to take hold, while Willow fought it with all her might.

When the ex-Wiccan looked back, her eyes were almost normal again. Anya grabbed her shoulders and shook her lightly. "Willow," she hissed. "Wake up!"

She blinked. When she opened her eyes, she seemed to be aware of her surroundings again. "A-Anya?"

"Yes. You were having a bad dream."

Willow nodded, then, not entirely aware of what she was saying, added, "My whole life is a bad dream without her…" Tears threatened to fall, until she realised who she was talking to. Only Xander was allowed to see her cry; that was the rules. "Sorry…" she muttered, blinking them back, and attempting to become 'I'm-okay-honest Willow'.

"It's fine," said Anya. An uncomfortable silence hung between the girls. "I… I woke you up. In case you hurt yourself."

"Th-thanks." Willow frowned. "But… why are you in here? Thought you were all, y'know, cozy with Giles in the lounge."

"Hardly cozy," she admitted, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Xander, although he seemed to be completely out of it. "Buffy's back. She woke me up and I decided sleep was futile and I should get up. I heard noises, so…"

"Oh. Me?"

"Yes. Bad dream?"

Willow nodded. "You have no idea…" She looked across at her sleeping friend. "Gee, poor Xander. I think I kept him up late again." Then, just in case Anya suspected any bad intention, she clarified: "That is, what with the whole crying thing…"

Anya wasn't concerned, not now she'd witnessed some of Willow's true condition first hand. They both watched him a while. "He looks different like that," she noted. "I almost…"

She let it linger, but Willow seemed to understand. "You know he still loves you. I mean, he doesn't say so, but I can tell he does. And he misses you."

"I know. The apartment is empty without him, too." She sighed. "I think it'll take a lot of time for the two of us to regain trust."

"I guess…" That sounded familiar to her brief break-up with Tara, and tears stung her eyes again. Before she could think about it any further, though, Anya interrupted her thoughts, whether she'd realised or not.

"Xander loves you, too, you know. He always has."

"Yeah. Things coulda been different if-" Then, seeing that Anya's expression was dropping, she backpedalled. "Hey, don't worry. I love him in a friend-only way. Still very much of the gay." Her supportive smile soon fell. "Well, actually, pretty much of the not-feeling-anything right now…

Anya had been watching Xander for some time, only really half-listening to Willow. When she tore her gaze from him, and noticed Willow looking sad again, she seemed to snap out of her own moping and adopted a chipper expression, one that she hoped didn't look too false. "Oh, come on," she urged. "Buck up!"

Willow proffered a weak smile, which seemed to satisfy. Then, she remembered something she'd mentioned earlier. "Oh! Did you say Buffy was back?"

"Yes. About an hour ago."

"I didn't know she was gone. Where was she?"

"Spike's."

"Is she-"

"She's fine."

"Good…" Remembering the incident in the hall, she asked, "Th-there's something wrong with Spike, isn't there?"

Anya nodded, surprised that she'd noticed it, too. "He's got a soul. Somehow."

"A soul? Like, the broody kind?"

"I don't know, but Buffy's confirmed that he has one. We'd better wait until she tells everyone, though, because I don't want to jump to any conclusions."

"Sure…" Suddenly, they both realised it was a lot lighter, turning to face the window. "Wow. Guess I'd better get up."

"Yes. I was going to make breakfast."

"You… you want some help?"

Anya beamed, feeling very accepted by Willow's simple request. "That would be lovely."

"O-okay. Down in a minute."

With a nod of gratitude, Anya headed downstairs again, and left Willow to get dressed. The red head got up carefully, trying not to disturb Xander – he'd managed to sleep through the entire conversation, somehow – then covered him with her half of the duvet so he'd be more comfortable. She made sure he was nicely 'tucked in' before leaving the room.

They spent a good two hours in Buffy's kitchen trying to make enough pancakes for the entire household, occasionally nibbling on any that were too 'funny-shaped', but otherwise being silent. They were currently preparing the last batch, when Willow decided to strike up conversation again.

"Anya?"

"Mm?" she replied, through a mouthful of pancake.

"Uh… thanks… for being there this morning."

Anya swallowed the pancake. "No problem."

"Don't tell anyone I was… y'know. I don't want them to worry."

"I won't."

"And I, um, wanted to apologise for… for destroying the Magic Box. And for… trying to kill you."

"Apology accepted. I… hope you're better soon."

The two shared a smile of mutual acceptance. Anya couldn't believe she'd almost dismissed Willow's friendship over something that seemed so trivial. The Magic Box, after all, could be rebuilt in time. It would take far longer to reconstruct a broken friendship.

At that moment, everyone started waking up and filing down into the kitchen somewhat sporadically. First was Dawn, who ambled in and immediately sat heavily at the island, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She only vaguely noticed that breakfast was ready.

"Mornin', guys…" she said, yawning. Anya placed a plate in front of her and a glass of orange juice, while Willow brought over a large dish piled high with ready-prepared pancakes. In keeping with tradition, she asked:

"Funny shapes or rounds?"

Now slightly more alert as the delicious smell of the pancakes assaulted her nose, Dawn sat up straight. "Do I _really_ get a choice?"

Willow laughed slightly. "Funny shapes it is…" she said, dishing them out, just as Giles wandered in. "Oh. Hey, Giles."

"Good morning, girls." He sat opposite Dawn and the serving process started again, Anya laying the plate and Willow providing pancakes. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"No particular reason, really," said Anya. "We were both up and decided to do something productive." Willow shot her a thankful glance for not mentioning that morning. As Anya reached over to put a bottle of syrup in the middle of the island, she started sniggering. Dawn looked up and joined in.

"What?" asked Giles, suddenly self-conscious.

Anya ruffled his hair vigorously. "You got a visit from the hair monster." Giles caught his reflection in one of the cupboard doors and saw what she was talking about – his hair was sticking up in every direction. "I hear they're rampant this time of year." He batted Anya's hand away to stop her making it worse and set about trying to calm it down.

Xander chose that moment to emerge, still groggy from his heavy sleeping as he stumbled through the door. He smelt the syrup Dawn was liberally pouring over her breakfast and his eyes widened. "Pancakes. Pancakes good." With that, he sat next to the teenager and banged his plate on the island like a caveman. "Me want pancakes."

Willow rolled her eyes and put three on his plate. Xander looked up at her. "Come on, Will. I'm starving. I'm also a man; we need more than you puny females."

"Fine," she muttered, "you get one more and that's it, or there'll be none left for Buffy."

"That's okay," said the accused from the doorway. "I'm really not that hungry anyway." She seemed to have perfected a knack of entering a room unnoticed by its occupants.

"A-are you sure?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the offer, though." She took a place at the island with the others, and the two impromptu chefs sat at either end, digging into their own breakfasts. Everybody ate in silence while Buffy sipped half-heartedly at a glass of orange juice, staring off into space. Anya didn't want to bring up their early morning conversation, and Willow didn't want to let on that she knew Buffy had left the house to see Spike.

Eventually, it was Giles who broke through the silence. "Buffy, did you sleep well?"

"Wha-?" she asked, snapping out of it. "Oh… yeah. I mean, considering Spike's sudden reappearance."

Xander suddenly put down his fork and applauded with just a hint of sarcasm. "Well done. Let's see, you managed to go an entire…" – he checked the wall clock – "five minutes without mentioning him."

Buffy wasn't in the mood. "Xander, don't even think about arguing with me."

"Let me get this straight. I couldn't complain about Spike when he wasn't here. Now he's back, and I'm not even allowed the satisfaction of complaining about him behind his back?" He scoffed. "What does that leave, hm? Complaining about Spike to his face?"

"Xander, please…" That was Willow. "We finally got everyone back together again. Don't ruin it."

Buffy nodded gratefully at her friend and shared a look with Anya. The justice demon smiled supportively to indicate that she should tell everyone, and that she was there to back her up if needed. "Okay, guys," she said, taking a deep breath. "I guess I oughta 'fess up, right?"

"'Fess, um, confess to what, exactly?" asked Giles.

"I went to see Spike last night." Noting that Xander was struggling to keep himself calm, she carried on. "And before you all… yell at me, or say it was the wrong thing to do, let me explain…" When she was certain everyone was going to listen and comprehend, she told how Spike had fallen through her ceiling, how she'd made him leave, and that she'd known she had to talk things through with him before she lost her nerve. "I knew he wouldn't come to me, not this time. Not after what he… didn't do."

"So did you manage to talk everything through?" asked Dawn.

"Well-"

"Do we know why he left? Why was he in Africa? Why is he back? What-"

"Calm down, Dawn…" said Buffy, softly. "We talked about that. Basically, he went to get the chip out and didn't succeed after all."

"And it took him this long?" she asked, bitterly.

"Trials," she said, simply. "That and the shaman thingy made him wait before he sent him back." Dawn seemed to accept this. Xander was still dubious but kept his tone non-sarcastic for the time being.

"I'm not going to ask why he went to get the chip out; I don't think I want to delve that deeply into Spike's mind. But if he's still got it, what did he want to talk to you about?"

Buffy looked to Anya for support, who nodded. "Turns out he came back with more than a non-removed chip…" She surveyed her friends' curious expressions before continuing, knowing there was now no backing out. "The shaman gave him a… a soul…"

The room fell into stunned silence, save for Anya and Willow. The former saved Buffy. "It's true," she clarified. "I could tell when I saw him last night in the hall."

"I knew there was something different in his eyes," added Willow.

"Yeah… same here," admitted Buffy for the first time. "When he spoke, it was more… I don't know… genuine, maybe. And I could really tell he was hurting, the same way Angel was."

Giles had listened very carefully throughout and chose this particular moment to intervene. "In all fairness, I don't think you can really compare them."

"No, I know, but… as far as I can tell, a soul comes with bad memories when its given back, whether it's a curse or a gift."

"So… what now?" asked Dawn. "Is he ever going to come back here?"

"I… I don't know, Dawn. Probably not for a while, but before you ask, yes, you can see him. He wants to explain everything to you."

"I have to go to him, right?" Buffy nodded. Dawn looked briefly thoughtful. "C'n I go today?"

Buffy was about to say no, then reconsidered, not wanting to cope with another bout of Dawn's tears. "Okay," she said, slowly, "but not until tonight. I imagine he's probably sleeping off whatever he went through to get back here."

Dawn accepted this without arguments, and returned to finishing her pancakes. After a brief silence, Willow spoke up again, quietly. "B-Buffy?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you gonna do now? I mean, the Spike thing…"

She sighed. "I really don't know, Will."

Cautiously, Willow continued. "H-he still loves you, doesn't he? Even after…" – she looked at Anya, then Giles, ascertaining there'd be no angry reaction from either of them – "…everything…"

"He says so."

"And he has a soul now. That makes him… good… doesn't it?"

"I… guess so," she said, wondering where Willow was going with this.

"Well, c-could there be any chance of you-"

"No," she cut her off. "That's not even something I wanna think about at this stage…" Willow nodded understandingly and adopted an apologetic expression to imply she was sorry for even bringing it up.

The Scoobies continued their breakfast in silence, each lost to their thoughts and their own opinions on Buffy's situation, their own problems momentarily forgotten. Peace never lasted in Sunnydale, and chaos seemed to follow most of them in their wakes; this was twice as true for Spike. Everybody wanted to help – or, in Xander's case, merely wipe Spike off the face of the planet – but they all knew that Buffy needed to sort this particular problem out on her own. They knew nothing about her situation with the vampire. She'd gotten herself into this alone, and she'd have to get herself out of it the same way…

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To be continued…

Okay, sorry about the wait. I frelling hate filler chapters. Anyhoo, thirteen should, I hope, be the beginning of the plot… Keep reviewing!


	13. Chapter Thirteen

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

A/N: Right. I spent a joyous car journey today coming up with the supremely angsty penultimate scene/chapter for this and now I can't wait to write it :D so enough with the filler chapters ;) Let's get onto the plot… And about that penultimate chapter – the B/Sers will love me. Or hate me. I'm not entirely sure which, but as Spike said in Chapter 11, "there's a fine line between love and hate" ;) Anyhoo, enjoy…

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Cradle

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Chapter Thirteen

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Two weeks later…

The days that followed Spike's return were reasonably uneventful, at least by Sunnydale standards. Immediately after Buffy had explained everything to her friends at breakfast, Dawn had headed off to see him at his crypt. He seemed pleased to see her; this wasn't a patch on how pleased she was to see him, now that her initial shock had worn off. They'd both been ridiculously overemotional – first, Dawn had hugged him tightly enough to suffocate him if he'd needed to breathe, then she'd followed it up immediately afterwards by slapping him hard.

"Oi, Nibblet," he'd said, rubbing his cheek where she'd hit him. "What was that for?"

"Buffy," she'd said simply, and he'd understood. It seemed that everyone knew; Dawn, however, had forgiven him now that she knew he'd got a soul, and she'd held onto him tightly again to prove it. She didn't let go until after he'd finished explaining about Africa for what felt like the fifteenth time since his return. She'd promised to see him again – every day, in fact – and left the crypt feeling much better about Spike, and far less confused about how she felt about him.

Spike knew that Dawn would support him to the end. She didn't give her affection away lightly, and to regain her trust – or, in fact, to keep it – was an achievement in itself. He wanted Buffy to be his sole anchor through the impending Hell he was going to face, but until such time as that became a reality, or even remotely plausible, he'd just have to muddle through with Dawn. He couldn't gain Buffy's love - which was what he needed, even in the smallest dose – but Dawn's would see him through to some degree. It was far easier to be dependable than it was to be dependent.

Buffy, even though she had given Dawn strict orders to only see Spike at the crypt and not invite him to the house (mainly for his own safety while Xander was still there), still found herself half-wanting him to appear at the kitchen door. Finding the tree outside her room devoid of any occupants, despite hearing noises from within the branches, was surprisingly disappointing. She refused to force herself to see him, because the fear in his eyes terrified her, and because she knew he thought she was the one to help him. In her heart, she also knew he was right, but thinking about it brought back memories of Angel. Spike being in the same situation had secretly always been something she'd dreaded. The 'evil, soulless thing' excuse wasn't going to cut it any more.

Patrol-wise, there had been surprisingly – and worryingly – few vamps around the town. In fact, since the near-apocalypse, she'd seen maybe six in total. There were barely even any random demons to fight. Buffy should have been glad of this fact, but her Slayer senses were telling her something was up, and if it was scaring off the demon population, it could only be a really, really Big Bad. Spike would have been able to tell her what was going on… but that would entail unnecessary conversation, which would then lead inevitably to a barrel-load of angst that she couldn't deal with. For this reason, she stayed wondering until such time as whatever it was decided to manifest itself as something she could fight.

Willow was steadily recovering with Xander's help, and, to the latter's relief, was now confiding more in Giles than before. Tara's untimely death, she had almost recovered from, but the guilt of everything she'd done was still haunting her, and fighting the residual Magic dwelling inside her was becoming increasingly more difficult. Twice they'd had to sedate her before she hurt herself or anyone else; her eyes would completely glaze over with the familiar blackness, and her finger tips would glow or spark, sometimes to such a degree that it would interfere with the house's electrics. The Magic controlled her body while her mind struggled to regain control, leaving her shaking from the effort and unable to move hours later.

None of them liked to admit it, but her recovery was going in two directions at once. As her mind became stronger and her will to fight the Magic increased, it doubled its efforts to take her over. It was an entity in and of itself, existing separate from her and using her as some kind of host, thus resulting in her body becoming increasingly weak as the days went on. Willow wanted nothing more than to rid herself of it for good, and the only way to do that seemed to be to use it, and thus, her resolve began to weaken. It was a terrible, vicious circle, and it was very slowly killing her.

Giles, with the help of Anya, had consulted every one of his books and all those they'd managed to rescue from the Magic Box, in an attempt to find out how to help her. The coven that had leant him the magic he'd used to defeat her had offered suggestions, including, as a last resort, several purging spells, but nothing had worked. They'd even tried to think of how to word a wish in such a way that Anya could grant it as an act of justice, but it was impossible.

On top of this, he was also getting worried about Buffy again. Prior to Spike's return, and after her heartfelt talk with him about everything, she seemed to have sorted most things out in her mind. Now, with the additional bonus of Spike's new soul, she was just as confused as before, and, although she wouldn't admit to it, more worried about him than when she hadn't known where he was.

Xander, while still looking after Willow, was attempting a slow reconciliation with Anya, at her rather humble request. It was going to take a very long time. Xander couldn't help but think that if a certain blond vampire wasn't around, it would take a Hell of a lot less time. He trusted Anya – admittedly not as much as before – but he definitely didn't trust Spike. He was waiting for a time to come when he'd be alone in a room with just him and a stake so he could end the madness once and for all. As far as he was concerned, everything was Spike's fault. He'd probably be doing him a favour, too.

In quiet moments, he would sit by the sleeping form of Willow after one of her inner wrestling matches with the Magic, and let silent tears flow freely, knowing it would be disastrous if she found him like it, but unable to stop. His pride, at being her choice of the one to help her, was slowly turning into a desperate feeling of complete helplessness as her condition worsened. If she tried to be happy for the others, it was even more horrible, because he got the inevitable crash later on. He could only watch as both of his best friends collapsed, one physically, and the other emotionally.

Anya had been overseeing the rebuilding of her shop, unaware of Xander's inner torment, but trying to be everybody's rock in their time of need. She'd worked through her demons – she hated that phrase, but was becoming used to using it – and was beginning to feel like the only sane, stable member of the group, with Dawn coming a close second when she wasn't having a teen-tantrum.

So far, she'd had to reassure Buffy that, from what she knew about shaman demons, Spike's soul came with no nasty clauses, curses, or strings attached, other than the obvious one of however many days of torment he'd have to go through before his brain learnt to cope with having a conscience. And, since he'd already had to get used to having a chip, she assumed it would be fairly quick and relatively painless. Then she'd had to convince Dawn that he _was_ all right, honest, but he'd be a little quiet and subdued for a while. When Giles was reaching breaking point with Willow and Buffy, she'd had to take over his research while he got much-needed rest. Finally, she'd had to distract Xander enough that he wouldn't worry quite so constantly about Willow.

In such a way, the lives of the Scoobies continued, problem-filled, but with just enough friendship and loving support between them to keep everyone going from day to day. And, on an average, post-apocalyptic, stressful day on the Hell mouth, Buffy was patrolling, not because she thought there'd be an army of vamps to dust, but because she simply needed to go for a walk. For the past week, luckily, she'd not encountered Spike, either, because he hadn't left his crypt for days. She'd spotted Clem with an armful of bloodbags at one point, glad that Spike had at least found a kind and concerned friend, no matter how badly he cheated at kitten poker…

On this particular night, a night she'd wanted to be eventless, something happened. Typical. There was a rustling some distance behind her, followed by a few random yelps, and then pounding footsteps as something – or someone – ran for its life. She spun around just in time to be knocked flying by the oncoming vampire, who was clearly terrified for his life, and they both ended up in a dazed heap on the ground. She ignored her automatic instinct to stake him on the spot, and instead pinned him down, the stake aimed at his heart but not piercing it just yet.

"Slayer…" he began, predictably, baring his fangs.

"Oh, please," she said, "like that's the most original line ever…" The vamp growled in what he supposed was a menacing way and she rolled her eyes, moving the stake closer. "Shut up."

"You're gonna pay for this, Slayer!" he told her, unconvincingly. "I'll-"

She punched him neatly in the nose. "I said, shut up." He obeyed this time. "Don't get me wrong; I _am _going to kill you, but first I want information. Got that?" The vamp nodded, eyeing the stake nervously. "Good. Now, I've noticed a severe and frankly disturbing lack of undead activity lately and, while I should probably be glad of the time I'm getting off, I can't help but wonder what's going on."

"So? What's that gotta do with me?"

"Let's see," she said, mock-ponderingly. "You're the first vamp I've seen in… let's think… a week. In a week, I've normally dusted about a dozen of your kind and massacred a couple of demons on the side. So when nothing happens, I worry. And then, when I see you running for your unlife, I start to think maybe whatever's scaring you guys off is too close to _my_ life for comfort, and then I worry more." Punctuating her next command with a sharp prod of the stake, she said, "Talk."

The vamp, clearly a college kid who'd made the idiotic mistake of walking alone after dark on the Hellmouth, stared at her dumbly for several seconds, attempting to form her overlong wording into something he could understand. It seemed these days that no matter how smart they were as humans, the turning made them morons. Back when Angel and Spike had been turned, sires obviously knew what they were doing, and it was a talent that must have gotten lost down the lines somewhere. Finally, the lightbulb came on and the vamp explained. "Oh, right. That. Well, it was pretty big. I couldn't see what it was, but… yeah, it was big."

"Big evil? Big good? Big run-like-hell? _What_?" asked Buffy.

"The first one. And kinda the last one…"

"Big run-like-hell?"

"No; 'what'. Ain't never seen anything like it before."

"Well. That was a big help," she said, smiling sweetly. "Before I kill you, how's about you take a wild guess as to what it could be, hm?"

"Uh…"

Before the vamp dug himself into an early grave, a familiar voice from behind Buffy said, "Let 'im up, pet. He doesn't know what it is."

She froze at his voice momentarily, mainly because he'd succeeded in sneaking up on her unnoticed, then frowned and let the fledgling to his feet. Two seconds later, she whipped around and staked him anyway. As he crumbled, she said, "What? You never said not to kill him…" Spike said nothing, which worried her; normally there'd have been some kind of sarcastic remark by now. Then she remembered that there wouldn't be, not for a long while, and was almost regretful of it. Shaking off the feeling, she pocketed her stake again and took a step towards him, cautiously. "It's probably a wild shot, but do _you_ know what it is?"

He shook his head. "'Fraid not. But I _do_ know it's bloody huge and very pissed off, and currently on the outskirts of town. I sent Clem to find out more."

"Have you seen it, whatever it is?"

"No, just seen the results." When she raised a questioning eyebrow, again, there was no sarcastic comment. She'd been at least expecting some jibe about her delicate stomach coping with it, but… nothing. "It's got all the vamps scared out of their wits, that much I do know. The only two I managed to get any information out of – that is, the only two who could still speak – told me that they'd seen this thing rip the skin clean off one of their biting buddies."

"Nice…" she noted, something niggling at the back of her mind that this was familiar. "Well, I'll let Giles know. Whatever it is, I'm sure it's in some book somewhere."

"Yeah." The conversation ended surprisingly amicably and silence immediately descended, filling the foot between them like a chasm. Spike was watching her, waiting for her to move, just like he always had… but it was different. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time, or was re-evaluating her, remembering her for future reference.

Buffy watched him watching her, wondering what was so fascinating. After a few seconds, his eyes locked with hers for the briefest of moments, and then he tore his gaze away to look at the floor. In that split-second, Buffy saw the pain there again and found herself struggling to swallow a lump in her throat. Knowing she was going to regret it, she took another step closer, and said, "Spike… are… are you okay?"

He looked up again, a little confused by her concern. She wondered when exactly he'd started questioning her sincerity; then again, it was inevitable, and he'd had a lot of time alone to think about things. "Great," he said. "Just fine."

"How are the, uh, the scars holding out?"

"Nearly healed. Still smart a bit."

This was all wrong. It was too formal, too awkward. His spark had gone. "When was the last time you saw Dawn?"

He thought about it. "'Bout two days ago, I reckon. Nibblet seemed a bit worried about Red."

"That'd be about right; we all are…"

"She's not doing so well?"

"She's… I don't know… but I get the impression she's gonna get worse before she gets better."

Spike nodded sympathetically. "Well, tell her I said 'hey'. And that I hope she works through it."

Buffy, a little surprised by this side of him, nodded her consent. She suspected he'd never really fallen out with Willow, and Willow herself had no personal problems with him. They seemed to have a silent, unspoken friendship.

The silence, and Spike's somewhat distant expression, finally got too much for her, and she began to head past him. Something was still bugging her, however. "Spike, why _did_ you come out here?"

"Was lookin' for you, of course."

"Oh. Of course…"

Quietly, he added, "Took me three days to pluck up the courage, mind you…"

Buffy stopped where she was, next to him, but facing the opposite direction, and looked up at him. "That bad, huh?"

Her light-hearted comment seemed to have a minor effect on him, as he smiled slightly. "Yeah. You were right – about hating myself for that pathetic performance the other night. You'll be glad to know that was a one-off…"

She swallowed. "It's… it's okay. I get it. I do… Believe me, I know about inexplicable crying…" Without changing position, she very cautiously put her palm to his and linked their fingers, squeezing his hand reassuringly. She felt his entire body tense with the action, but he didn't speak, just looked down to face her. "I'm… I'm really sorry you can't come to see Dawn, but… everything's kinda messy there right now. And Xander's still mad. You… you know he'd kill you if he saw you."

"If I didn't know any better," he said, "I'd think you were protecting me, Slayer…" A glimmer of the old Spike shone through suddenly, as if released by her touch. He didn't wait for her to reply, merely squeezed her hand back. "You'd better get back and find out what this Big Evil is…"

"Yeah…" They simultaneously released each other's hands. Casually, as she walked off, she said, "See ya, Spike…"

He turned to watch her leave until she vanished into the night, and the rising mist. With three tiny words she'd managed to give him huge hope, and, although he was well aware that he looked like an idiot, he couldn't help but smile as he headed back to his crypt.

Buffy stormed into her house and banged the door open, shocking Giles and Anya as they sat around her coffee table perusing books. The breeze she'd caused blew the book her ex-Watcher was working on ahead several pages, thus making him lose his place. Anya scurried in pursuit of some loose pages that had drifted to the floor, while Buffy gave an apologetic look and closed the front door quietly. Dawn entered the lounge from the kitchen, having heard the noise.

"Uh… come in, Buff…" she said, sarcastically.

Her sister ignored her and addressed Giles. "We got a problem."

"What sort of problem?" he sighed.

"That's what I need you to find out for me." Giles gestured for her to calm down and explain, indicating for her to sit. "Sorry… Okay. So, you may or may not have noticed that lately there's been very little cause for my Slaying powers. Well, it turns out there's some big… thing on the edge of town that's scaring the demon community."

"A big thing?" asked Anya. "What sort of thing? Demon?"

"I don't know." Slightly reluctantly, she admitted, "I ran into Spike-"

"You did?" interrupted Dawn. "That's so great; he's been so nervous about leaving the crypt. How'd it go?"

"I-it was fine, Dawn… a little awkward, but… fine. Anyway, as I was saying – I ran into him at the cemetery and he told me that, from what he's heard, this thing is huge and annoyed, which is _never _a good combination in my book."

Giles closed the book he'd been sifting through and sought out a different one, adjusting his glasses on his nose before opening it. "How long has it been around, do you know?"

She shook her head. "Well… not specifically. But it's been quiet around here for ages, since… since saving the world again. I didn't think much of that at first, but now you come to mention it… yeah, there's been barely anything since then."

Giles nodded thoughtfully, turning to a section on post-apocalyptic demon behaviour. "Did, uh, did Spike tell you anything else?"

"Not really… just that Clem's looking into it. Oh, and that a couple of vamps saw it skin their friends alive…" she trailed off, the same thought as before niggling at the back of her mind. Then, the light came on and she looked at Anya. "Skinned alive… Warren…" she whispered.

"Warren's dead, Buffy," clarified Dawn. "It can't be him."

"No, I know that…" she said, absently, willing Anya to understand what she was getting at. "But… Anya, don't you remember what happened to him?"

She rolled her eyes; it was a stupid question. "Of course I do. He was-" She stopped, her eyes growing wide. "Oh…"

Buffy nodded, knowing that she'd got it, and cast her eyes towards the stairs. "Oh, my God…"

"What?" asked Dawn and Giles simultaneously.

"Dawn, go upstairs and tell Xander and Willow to come down here…" said Buffy. Her sister nodded, a little curiously, but obliged nonetheless, heading upstairs.

"Buffy, what on Earth is going on?"

"I'll tell you in a minute, Giles," she promised. "Anya."

"Yes?"

"Could it be possible? Could this be… what I think it is?"

She thought for a while. "It's… I've never seen it happen, but… yes… it's entirely possible."

Buffy closed her eyes painfully; she'd been hoping her hunch was way off the mark. She opened them again when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Dawn came first, her expression now worried as to what the Hell was going on, and behind her came Xander, carrying Willow. The redhead's physical condition had worsened considerably; she was now unable to walk more than a few steps before her legs gave up, and she'd lost far too much weight. Her originally slim build was now painfully skinny. Her mind, luckily, was as sharp as ever, when she wasn't temporarily incapacitated in a battle against the Magic.

Giles moved up on the couch so Xander could sit Willow down, and everybody positioned themselves to be able to hear Buffy.

"Wh-what's goin' on?" asked Willow. "Dawn said it sounded serious."

"It is. At least, I think it might be…" said Buffy. "As I was just telling Giles, there's a new Big Bad hovering near Sunnydale, and until about a minute ago I had no idea what it could be… but now…" She sighed and looked apologetically at her friend. "Will, I'm really sorry about this, but I'm going to have to ask you about… the Magic… Are you going to be okay if I do?"

She nodded, weakly. "I… I think so…"

"Good. Just say if it gets too much and I'll avoid it." Willow nodded again. "Okay. So far, all we know is that this thing is really big, and really irritated, and that it skinned two vamps. I have a theory; Anya agrees with me on this. Will?" She crouched near her and kept her voice low. "When you were filled with the Magic, do you remember…" She swallowed nervously. "Do you remember what you did to Warren?"

The flinch Willow gave implied all too clearly that she did. Xander almost answered for her, but she stopped him with a wave of her hand, wanting to do this herself. "Y-yeah… I… I…"

"It's okay. So long as you remember. Anya, fill Giles in…" The justice demon leant nearer and whispered it to him; his expression reflected his shock – he'd known that she'd killed Warren, but until now didn't know exactly how. Now, it seemed he'd come to the same conclusion as Buffy. "Okay, Will… now, when Xander managed to pull you out of your… trance, most of the Magic left you, right?" She nodded. "And we know that some of it's still in you." She nodded again. "And it's powerful."

"It's m-more than powerful, Buffy," she admitted. "It's… it's alive, like… like a parasite… It's bent on d-destruction." Xander placed a supportive hand on her shoulder.

"That's what I was afraid of…" Buffy shook her head defeatedly. "All right; last question. The Magic that left you – where did it go?"

"I… I don't know… I mean, I w-wasn't really thinking about it, b-but I assumed it just… found its way back into the books…"

Anya spoke up. "The books are still blank… I found them in the debris of the Magic Box and the pages are still empty."

Buffy stood again and addressed the whole group. "So. The books are blank. The Magic left Willow, but we don't know where it went. There's something out there skinning vamps. Anyone else seeing the connection here?"

"Good Lord…" muttered Giles. "In all my years as a Watcher, researching such things, I've never known of this to occur…"

"But can it?" pushed Buffy. "Could that thing be a whole lotta Dark Magic?"

"It… it is possible," he clarified. "A-and considering that it also contains the borrowed magic of the coven, it's more than just the Dark Magic from the textbooks…"

"Great…" she murmured. Dawn looked worried.

"It… it won't hurt Clem, will it?" She looked expectantly at Giles, then at Buffy, the latter of whom wrapped an arm around her sister.

"I really don't know, Dawn. Knowing how much of a coward Clem is, he won't get close enough for us to find out."

"What about Spike? Is he gonna be safe?"

Before Buffy could answer, Xander interrupted. "Enough with the theories. How do we get rid of it?"

Instinctively, all eyes went to Willow, except for Giles, who started thumbing through another book. She wished, for the first time in a long while, that Tara was there. Willow had a powerful witch, but Tara contained the knowledge that would have been their only hope in this situation. She fought back tears as she answered. "I don't know…"

Giles finally found something promising. "I think I might have found the answer… but I need some time to translate this."

"Good," said Buffy. "You and Anya get onto it. Willow, I want you having nothing to do with this – the further you are from this Magic, the better; Xander, you stay with her and if I need you, I'll let you know."

He gave her a mock salute. "Yes, General Buffy."

"Dawn…" Seeing that her sister was now deeply worried for Spike's safety, she realised she needed a distraction. "You… you help Giles, too." Dawn beamed - she loved helping – and sat herself on the floor by the coffee table, ready for action. "I will go back to the cemetery and tell Spike what's up."

"Why does _he_ have to be in on this?" asked Xander, bitterly.

"Because, for starters, he gave me the heads-up on it. Secondly, he might be useful. Thirdly, I'm not leaving him out of the loop; he doesn't deserve that." With finality in her tone, she finished: "If we're going to destroy this thing, your battle is with it, not Spike. Save your energy."

With that, she turned and left in much the same manner as she'd arrived, leaving everyone slightly bewildered. It just went to prove that, even if you managed to save the world, something would inevitably come along to try and destroy it again…

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To be continued…

Well, there you go… isn't it exciting? If it's completely implausible, fell free to tell me and I'll think of something else… Anyhoo, next chapter will be… um… possibly some Willow angst, or possibly the revelation of how to kill the Magic, or possibly some minor S/B… or maybe all three ;) We'll see how it goes. Review, please!


	14. Chapter Fourteen

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

A/N: Right, here we go. Let's see if Giles has figured out how to stop this thing yet. Prepare for some Willow angst and some minor B/S goodness , and something resembling a plan. Oh, and a special guest, too :D

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Chapter Fourteen

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Four days later…

Willow stood in front of the bathroom mirror, leaning heavily on the sink for support. She stared at her reflection in the glass, barely recognising the gaunt face that gazed back at her. She only knew it was her own reflection by the way it followed her movement; if not for that, it could have been anyone looking out of the mirror. She sighed and bent down to splash cold water on her face, attempting to wake herself up from a long nap.

She drained the sink and looked up at the mirror again, semi-hoping she might finally recognise herself this time. Unfortunately, it was the same face as before. She attempted a smile, wondering if that would help, but found it almost impossible, her facial muscles plainly refusing to form anything more than a grim smirk. She gave up. That was when she noticed it.

Reflected in the glass, apparently sitting behind her on top of a wicker basket, was Tara. She was smiling serenely, wearing the same outfit as the last time Willow had seen her, and seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she was meant to be dead. Willow's grief-ridden brain didn't register this, however. She smiled for what felt like the first time in years and turned around to face Tara in the flesh.

Her smile fell and turned into a frown of confusion. There was nothing there – just an empty, Tara-less wicker basket. Silently chastising herself for being so silly as to get her hopes up, Willow shook her head and turned to leave. She caught sight of the mirror again as she did so. Tara was still there, in the same position as before.

Again, Willow turned to find nothing. She was onto this game now, and yes, sure enough, there was Tara in the mirror, but not in the room with her. She whipped her head between the glass and the room behind her a few times, wondering if speed was of the essence. In the back of her mind, she knew it couldn't be real, that it was only her head playing tricks on her, or the Magic's way of driving her slowly insane. The hope that Tara might be alive somewhere, however, overruled this logic.

She started getting dizzy and finally stopped, conceding to stare into the mirror. Tara hadn't moved very far, if at all, and hadn't said anything, but she blinked, and cocked her head to the side a little curiously, as if she didn't understand what the mirror-Willow was doing. Willow finally realised that it couldn't be possible for her to only exist on one side of a mirror and was now beginning to wonder if she'd really gone mad.

"Xander!" she called, frantically. Her friend came running into the room from his position outside – he'd been waiting so he could help her back to the room when she'd finished – with a worried expression on his face.

"What is it, Will?" He'd expected her to have fallen, perhaps, or hurt herself. Finding her apparently unharmed worried him even more. She beckoned for him to stand next to her and pointed at the mirror, not taking her eyes off it.

"Look in that mirror and tell me what you see…"

He looked at her a little curiously, but, seeing that she was serious, obeyed. "Just you and the bathroom beyond."

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing else. No Wonderland or White Rabbit."

"Are you sure? You don't see… someone else? Not you, I mean…" She took a deep breath, and decided that Xander of all people might believe her. "You… you don't see Tara?"

Xander made a show of peering closer, to cover the fact that he was now very scared she was losing her mind. "No, Will. Just you, me and the bathroom."

"Oh…"

"Come on. I'll get you a drink, okay?" prodded Xander, trying to get her out of the room. She nodded numbly as he manoeuvred her out of the bathroom. The mirror-Tara watched them leave, still silent.

Back in the bedroom, Xander sat Willow at the end of the bed and promptly vanished to fetch her some coffee, debating with himself whether or not to tell Giles about her ghost-seeing episode. Once he was out of earshot, Willow, on a whim, struggled to the dresser and sat down, then concentrated on not paying attention to it. As expected, when she looked up at the mirror, Tara was there again, this time standing behind her. Willow resisted the urge to turn around.

As of yet, the mirror-Tara hadn't said anything. Willow decided to initiate some form of conversation, not entirely sure of what would happen. "H-hey…"

Tara smiled again. "Hey."

Willow breathed a sigh of relief. "Y-you can talk…"

"Of course I can talk, Willow."

"W-why can't I see you?"

In the mirror, Tara placed a hand on her shoulder. Willow felt a slight tingling, but nothing more. "Standard mirror-universe rules, I'm afraid. The Powers allowed me to go back to the alternative Sunnydale so I could talk to you. It's easier for me to contact you this way than it is to manifest as a ghost.; s-something about the balance of power."

Willow nodded, understanding. "I see… So, like, this is the more powerful world and that one-" she placed her palm flat on the mirror "-is less so? Because it's like a copy?" Tara nodded. She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. "W-where are you, Tara? I mean, are you h-happy?"

"Yes, Will. Don't worry." Mirror-Tara removed the hand from her shoulder, leaving real-Willow with an inexplicable cold sensation there, and she adopted a more serious expression. "But I-I saw what you did. That doesn't make me happy."

"B-but I did that for you, baby!" protested Willow. "I know it was wrong, but I was trying to avenge you! I just wanted to make it right again. I even tried to bring you back…"

"I know; I felt that. It wasn't the right thing to do, though, Will; you know that. It achieved nothing… well… apart from the way you are now." Willow knew she was right, and tears flowed freely down her cheeks. "Y-you're dying, Willow. Don't you see that?"

"M-maybe it's for the best," she sobbed. "At least I could be with you again."

"I don't know if you could…" admitted Tara, a little reluctantly.

"Wh… what do you mean?"

Tara sighed. "Because I was killed by human means, for nothing, I got sent to a Heaven dimension. Just like Buffy was sent to one because she sacrificed herself for the world. B-but… if this Magic kills you, honey, I don't know where you'll end up…" She paused, trying to think how best to explain it. "If the Powers decide that you had no control over it, then you'll be fine… but they might not see it that way… they might decide that, because you absorbed it in the first place, of your own free will, that it was all self-inflicted… They could see it as suicide. A-and in the Bible, people who committed suicide were punished…"

"But I'm not Christian-"

"It doesn't matter… all afterlife dimensions follow the same rules."

Willow's eyes went wide. "Y-you mean I could get sent to a Hell dimension?!"

Tara nodded slowly. "Y-yeah… I mean, it depends on how the Powers feel at the time, but… yeah…"

Willow attempted to stop her sobs and ended up making choked noises in the effort. "H-how do I… can I stop it? The Magic in me?"

"Only _you_ can decide that, Will. If you want to get better, then I know you'll be strong enough to. But you have to _want _it."

"I think I want it… I don't… I don't feel anything any more. Just numb."

Tara looked thoughtful. "All right… e-even if you don't want it for yourself, want it for your friends. Think of how many people Buffy's already lost who loved her – her mom, Angel, Giles, even Spike… Some of them may have come back, but it's the losing them in the first place that's bad. And Dawn – she lost her sister _and_ her mom in the same year. And… and Xander… If Xander loses you, I don't know what could happen. You'd be failing him, Will…" Willow nodded, but still didn't seem completely convinced. Tara tried one final idea. "And if you w-won't help yourself for them, do it for me…"

"But you're not here-"

"No. But I'm watching over you… and I c-can't stand seeing you like this."

Willow seemed to be finally convinced, her tears having subsided. "O-okay… I'm gonna try. Really…"

"You promise?"

"I promise. A-and however and whenever I die, I'm gonna make sure I end up where you are…"

Tara smiled. "That's my girl…" She suddenly looked up, as if she was being called. "I… I gotta go now. There's only so long I can stay."

The redhead nodded. "I understand. Will I see you again?"

"I don't know. If you need me, they might allow me back."

"Guess I'd better let you go, huh?" Tara nodded. "Oh! Can I ask you something?"

Tara silently conferred with the Powers above her. "Yes, but make it quick."

"This Magic. It's real hard to fight it sometimes, and I just… can't seem to get rid of it… I was wondering if… if you knew how to…"

"You… you need to purge it. It's the only way. You run the risk of getting addicted again, but there's no other method of getting it out of you. And you need to purge it somewhere it can't hurt anyone."

"Makes sense…" She smiled. "Th-thanks."

Tara smiled back. "No problem. Now I really must go. If I stay here any longer the mirror universe'll shatter and everyone'll be reflection-less forever." Willow giggled; it felt good to laugh. In the mirror, Tara kissed the top of her head, causing her entire head to tingle, and murmured into her hair. "Goodbye, Will. Love you..."

"Goodbye, Tara…" With that, a bright light appearing the ceiling of the mirror-universe bedroom, and enveloped them both. When it cleared, Tara was gone. Willow, however, didn't feel sad about it. Knowing that Tara was in a better place, and knowing now that she could defeat the Magic inside her, made her feel ever more determined to get well again. She stared her reflection in the eyes, waiting for the tell-tale black flicker that meant the Magic was awake. "Okay, Mister Dark Magic," she muttered. "Only one of us can have this body, and I was here first… You're goin' down…"

At this point, Xander re-emerged carrying a mug of coffee for her. "Who's goin' down?"

"Oh… nothing." She indicated the mug. "That for me?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks." She grabbed it and downed the entire thing in one, hoping it would give her a much-needed energy boost.

"Whoa, Will… easy on the caffination…"

"Sorry. Really needed that." She placed the now-empty mug on the dresser. Xander had noticed that she was suddenly more alert, but he didn't want to jinx it by saying anything. "Could you take me downstairs? I have something I need to tell everyone."

"Sure," he said, helping her out of the chair and picking her up. "But you'll have to wait a while. Buffy's gone to see Spike." He was only partially successful at keeping the contempt from his voice, but, instead of dwelling on the vampire, he instead focussed on the fact that Willow was being positive and proactive towards recovering, and headed downstairs with her.

Buffy arrived at the crypt early in the evening; it was still light, but overcast enough that the sun couldn't get through. She reached the heavy doors just as Clem was leaving; the wrinkly demon smiled at her in greeting and then headed on his way, leaving the door open for her. She assumed by his actions that Spike was, in fact, in.

The door creaked as she pushed it, and she closed it quietly after herself. The sound of the television drifted up from the basement, warbled and mangled voices, then a familiar hissing noise as static took over the picture. She headed down the ladder to the sounds of violent banging, presumably Spike trying to get the show back.

She dropped down into the basement to find him kicking the back of the television in frustration, muttering curses under his breath, and stifled a laugh. He hadn't noticed her come in. She approached slowly, then said: "You know, I always wondered how good the reception was down here. Guess now I know…"

Spike looked up, surprise and joy at seeing her on his face. The sound of the static soon distracted him again, though. "It was fine before I left. Clem must've been messin' with it."

She rolled her eyes. "Sure. Blame Clem…" She examined the television, her head cocked to the side. "Sometimes, all these things need is a little TLC…" She bent down, pressed one of the buttons on the front ponderously, then smacked the side of it as hard as she could. The picture flickered back almost as if it had never gone away, and Spike stared at her, not sure whether to admire that she'd fixed it, or be annoyed that she'd fixed it before him.

"Uh… thanks."

Buffy stood up again and examined what he'd been watching. "Oh. _Passions._ If I'd realised you were watching that I wouldn't have bothered."

"Oi," he muttered. "It's quality programming, is that… Anyway, what brings you here?"

"I was wondering if you had any idea how we can defeat this Magic. Giles has been through every book he owns and we've found nothing."

"Sorry, love. Can't help you there." She was obviously thwarted and about to leave, so he decided to try and detain her. He rarely saw her and what little time she'd spare him lately was better than nothing, but this was really _too_ little time. "But, um, from what I know about magic – which isn't much, I admit, and after that shaman's trials I'd rather have as little to do with it as possible – from what I know, I'd say we need someone really strong in the magics to stop it. A god, maybe… or a bloody powerful witch…"

"I've had enough dealings with gods to last a lifetime, thank you," she said. "But a witch…"

"I reckon Red's powerful enough. If she can end the world, she can definitely-"

"No. No way. I don't want her near this thing."

Spike shrugged nonchalantly, but Buffy could tell he'd obviously forgotten about Willow's condition and was now regretting bringing it back up. "Can't 'elp you, then."

"Well… thanks anyway…" She turned to leave, then remembered something. "Oh. Almost forgot. Present from Dawn." She pulled a small, wrapped package from her pocket and threw it at him. He caught it as it hit him in the chest, and winced.

"What's this?"

"Dunno… but I advise caution. She's been experimenting in the kitchen."

"Ah. Well, it's not like she can poison me, but thanks for the warning…" He set the small package on top of the television. Buffy stared thoughtfully at him for a few seconds, wondering what was bothering her… then realised. He'd winced when the package hit him. Which could only mean his wounds still hurt… and they should have healed by now.

"Spike, uh… exactly how badly were you hurt in those trials?" He shrugged. Buffy wasn't taking that for an answer. She knew he'd question her motives when she did what she was about to do, but her curiosity was too much. She strode purposefully over, turned him around so his back was to her, and lifted the back of his shirt, then breathed in through her teeth at the sight that greeted her. The abrasions were almost as bad as they'd been the first time she saw them. Buffy reached to touch one and Spike arched his back away from her instinctively. "Jesus, Spike, didn't you dress these?" He muttered something she didn't catch. "What?"

"I said, I couldn't reach…"

She pulled the shirt back down and moved to face him. "Well, why didn't you ask Clem? No, wait, I know… male pride. Okay, so why not Dawn?"

"Didn't want her to see them…" he said. "Anyway, they should have healed by now, with or without bandages."

Buffy shook her head exasperatedly and went off in search of something resembling a First Aid kit. She came back with a handful of bandages and some antiseptic. "Shirt off. Now." Spike grumbled under his breath, but did as she asked. As expected, those wounds at the front were as bad as the back. "You couldn't reach the front either, huh?" He didn't say anything. "Yeah, right, Spike… you're just adding physical pain to the emotional torment, aren't you? Or… trying to distract from one to the other." Again, there was no answer, but she knew she was right. "It's so not worth it, you know…"

He watched her as she opened the bottle of antiseptic and laid the bandages nearby for use later. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" he said. "Fightin' with me to stop yourself thinking about what you had."

"This isn't about me any more, Spike." She dabbed the antiseptic onto a clean rag and approached. "Now, this is going to sting."

"I think I can- OW!" he started, cutting himself off with a yelp. "Watch it!"

"Sorry, but I warned you. What, the Big Bad can't handle a little more pain?"

He gritted his teeth. "All right… go on…" Buffy worked her way over all the various cuts, bruises, and burns, this time with a slightly gentler approach, stopping for a breather whenever he winced. In the back of her mind, she was pretty sure that vampires couldn't get infected, but she wasn't going to take a chance. Besides, she was getting some perverse joy out of making him squirm. At the same time, though, she wondered why she cared enough to even help.

After a few minutes, she was finished, and reached for the roll of bandages. That part was easier, and once she'd patched him up to a suitable degree, he let out a breath that he seemed to have been holding for a long time, completely unnecessarily. "There," she said. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Easy for you to say, Slayer…" Buffy put the remaining bandages and the bottle of antiseptic back where she'd found them and came back.

"Now, _please_ tell me you have a clean shirt…"

He gestured vaguely towards the back of the crypt. "Yeah. Think there's one over there somewhere. I'll find it later."

"Good. I'll be back in a couple of days if there's any developments on the Magic situation. But, for God's sake, get Clem to change those bandages, okay?"

He nodded. "Will do, love." She doubted he meant it, but accepted his answer anyway. "Thanks…"

She turned to leave again, satisfied that nothing else needed doing. She was two steps up the ladder, when Spike rushed to the other side of it, facing her through the rungs and placing one cold hand over hers. Looking into his eyes from that position, Buffy wondered briefly whether she'd resist if he decided to kiss her. The opportunity to find out never came, however, because he removed his hand just as curiously, having lost whatever inner battle he was fighting. With a nod of his head, he indicated she could go.

Buffy fled the crypt immediately before she did something she'd regret, slamming the door after her. Down in the basement, a practically mummified Spike listened to her footsteps as they vanished, and wondered, not for the first time, exactly what the Hell was going on between them. Sighing, he decided Buffy would tell him when she knew, and went off in search of a semi-clean shirt.

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Three hours later…

After a short and pointless patrol, Buffy returned home, finding everyone waiting for her. The coffee table was covered in open books and scrawled notes, and everyone was seated in various places around the room. All eyes turned to her as she entered.

"Okay, guys," she asked curiously. "What's the what?"

Giles removed his glasses and cleaned them for no apparently obvious reason. "We, uh, we have a plan."

Buffy sat herself down on the arm of the couch. "Great. Let's hear it."

Willow, to her surprise, was the first to start explaining. Buffy was even more surprised by the confidence in her voice. "I know how we can defeat the Magic. At least, I think I do."

"Okay; spill."

Willow didn't want to mention her encounter with mirror-Tara, so she chose her words carefully. "Well, I… I worked out that the only way to get better – to get this stuff outta me – is to purge it… I have to just expel it. So we all figured that maybe purging it into the bigger Magic would make harnessing it… easier."

Buffy looked thoughtful. "It's logical, I guess… but I don't wanna put you in any unnecessary danger, Will. You're not strong enough."

"I know, Buffy. But I'm not going to get any stronger by sitting here…"

Giles added, "I admit, it doesn't sound like the best of ideas… but I've thought this through, and Willow is correct. The Magic that's out there is, as you've said, very annoyed… and that may be because it knows there's some part of itself missing – the part that's in Willow. Maybe if we put it together again, it'll calm down."

"Maybe it won't…" countered Buffy. "It's too dangerous, Giles."

"I'm not debating that fact," he said, adamantly. "But there appears to be no other choice. If Willow doesn't purge the remains of her Magic, it'll only get stronger within her. And if she merely expels it somewhere else, we'll have two lots of it to deal with. In any case, we need it altogether to be able to re-capture it."

Buffy still wasn't sure. Anya merely nodded, knowing there was no other choice. Xander finally chimed in. "If we're careful, Willow will be fine. And we'll all be with her; it's not like she has to do this alone."

"All right," she said, conceding defeat now that she was outnumbered. "So it's the only option. Any ideas exactly _how_ we're going to harness it once it's back together?"

"The only thing I can think of," said Anya, "is to take all of the books it was taken from to it, and hope it moves back to its old home."

"Sensible," noted Buffy.

Dawn, who had been quiet for the talk, spoke up. "This sounds like a big ol' Scooby world-saving deal." Everyone murmured amongst themselves. "Do I get to help?"

Buffy was going to disagree, but then she remembered that Dawn had shown considerable ability as a fighter, and was certainly brave enough to help them out. "We'll see. I have to come up with a plan, first." Dawn folded her arms, adamant she was going to be left out again. "There's not much time before this thing hits Sunnydale, guys. Let's all just sleep on it and confer tomorrow, okay?"

There was a general noise of agreement, and everyone filed to their various sleeping arrangements. Nobody slept, however, their brains working overtime to come up with feasible plans. Buffy, running over every possibility in her mind, had a horrible feeling that whatever they decided, it wouldn't be that straightforward. Where magic was concerned, nothing was predictable. She also had an inkling that, no matter how much she argued with herself over it, she'd have to include Spike into the proceedings, either as an extra fighter, or to protect Dawn if it got too much for her to handle.

It seemed impossible to get away from him. Maybe life would be easier if she would just accept his presence in her existence, and stop fighting the fact that she was continually drawn back to him. But then again, since when had life on the Hellmouth ever been easy?

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To be continued…

*dramatic music* Anyone else get the impression it's really not going to be that easy to deal with this thing? Hehe. Okay, next chapter will be their plan, and possibly some Xander/Spike conflict at long last… Keep those reviews coming, people :D


	15. Chapter Fifteen

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

RATING: I've upped this chapter to PG-13 because there's a big ol' fight scene. Can never be too careful.

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A/N: As a thank you for Darryl for reassuring me that my 'rebirth' theme is still, in fact, working (yes, there was meant to be a theme. What, you think I called this thing "Cradle" for nothing?) there'll be some Xander/Spike conflict this chapter. Haven't decided whether that'll be funny or serious yet, though. It's quite tempting to have them having a hair-pulling bitch fight, but it's probably not that conducive to the flow of the angst ;) Whatever, I hope you enjoy it =) (And yes, I realise I may have probably watched "Bewitched" too much as a kid…)

Oh, incidentally, I realised that I probably should have made Giles more wounded than he is. So just pretend he has a limp and a lot of bruises that I just never mentioned ;) And the X/A conversation in this chapter was really frelling difficult to write, so be lenient…

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Cradle

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Chapter Fifteen

Buffy awoke late the next morning after everyone was already up, and realised, with bizarre clarity, that she knew exactly what to do. She dressed quickly and ate a fast breakfast, before storming out of the front door. She briefly explained that she was going to find out how close the Magic was to town so she'd know how much time they'd have, and then she was gone, leaving a very confused household in her wake.

It reached the early evening. Eventually, everyone wandered off to do their own thing, since Buffy showed no signs of reappearing. Giles had moved his research upstairs so he could take his turn keeping Willow company, and so they could help each other on the magical side of things, using his ideas and her knowledge of practice. Dawn had escaped to her bedroom with her music, having gotten bored of helping him.

The two remaining Scoobies, Xander and Anya, were sitting in the lounge. Anya, sitting on the couch with her legs curled under her, was perusing one of the smaller books – entitled "Magics And Their Realms" in ornate gold lettering on the leather spine – and Xander was absently watching television with the sound down low, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He wasn't particularly paying attention to it, however. The air was decidedly awkward between them still, and Xander got the distinct impression it would be him who'd have to break the silence. He just wasn't exactly sure how to do it, or whether the time was right.

The opportunity then arose, as Anya hurled the book at the floor in frustration and folder her arms irritably. Xander smiled, amused. "Problem, An?"

She huffed. "Yes. All of the useful books are under the rubble of the Magic Box, and Giles' are so old… well, I think the First Slayer may have used them," she explained, sceptically.

"Come on, you _know_ he keeps all the good ones for himself. He's got them all upstairs with Will…"

She nodded. "I wonder how they're doing?"

"Let's see," he said, thoughtfully. "The Brain of Britain and the Brain of Sunnydale in one room? I'd say they're doing fine."

Anya cast a glance to the staircase. "I just hope they find a way to harness that thing. It's all very well knowing how to get rid of it, but Magic doesn't tend to be the most… cooperative of things to work with."

Xander agreed, silently, similarly casting his gaze to the stairs. After a few seconds, they both looked away again. Just as absently as before, Xander returned his attention to the television, and Anya began picking at her fingernails. Neither of them spoke, and the previous discomfort soon descended on them again.

After a few minutes, it was Anya who broke the silence. "Do you think Willow will be all right?"

Xander tore his gaze from the television – he'd been paying enough attention to realise it was an old rerun of _Bewitched_ (with the second actor as Darrin) and Anya's comment had seemed to come at an apt time. "Here's hoping," he said. "So long as she doesn't do any of the ol' nose-twitching." He indicated the television to back up his comment. The half-witch, half-mortal daughter, Tabitha, was manifesting herself a pet bunny out of thin air. Luckily, Anya wasn't paying attention or she would have gotten decidedly nervous.

"She seems to have improved, though, don't you think?" asked Anya, having been witness to Willow's sudden burst of energy the day before.

"She has… but… I don't know…" he admitted, remembering their conversation in the bathroom. "I'm scared she's losing her mind."

Anya's expression mirrored her shock; she hadn't thought it would be that bad. Yes, she'd witnessed the Darkness inside Willow that morning, and she knew about the plaguing nightmares, but she'd never suspected Willow might have been losing her mind. "What makes you say that?"

"Yesterday, she…" He shook his head, debating against telling her, then realised he had to tell someone, and Giles or Buffy would only be even more concerned. Anya wasn't as close to Willow as the others. "She was in the bathroom and she asked me if I could see Tara… in the mirror… And at first I thought, y'know, Hellmouth, mirror people is normal… but there was nothing there, Anya." He sighed. "I know, I'm probably overreacting. I'm sure the Buffster and Dawn saw their mom a lot after she died. Sure I read that somewhere, actually; part of the grieving process or something…" Anya nodded. "But… I've seen Will when the Magic takes hold and it's like she's not even there any more…"

His ex-fiancée looked thoughtful, then said. "If it's any consolation, standard mirror-universe manifestations are usually only visible to one person. It _is_ entirely possible that Willow could have seen Tara in the mirror even if you couldn't…"

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Mm-hm."

He breathed out. "That's a relief…"

"In fact," she added, "it's likely that Tara may have given her a message… on how to get rid of the Magic, most probably, or perhaps she convinced her to get better."

"That makes a lot of sense, now you come to mention it." He felt quite silly for suspecting Willow was going insane. In all likelihood, it was _him_ who was going insane. "Thanks." Another silence fell as the credits rolled for _Bewitched_. The announcer cheerily stated that the next show would be _I Dream of Jeannie_, which was almost as bad in its naïve misrepresentation. Xander turned off the set in irritation. "I just wish," he said, "that it'd been someone else who'd pulled her out of it…"

"Like who?"

"Giles. Buffy. Someone who can handle this."

"Didn't they try?" asked Anya, curiously; she seemed to be leading up to something. Off his 'beg-pardon?' expression, she continued. "Buffy and Giles… didn't they try to bring her out of it and fail? I mean, I was there at the Magic Box. She nearly killed them both. Doesn't the fact that you were the only one who got through to her imply something?"

Xander thought about it. "Like?"

"Like… I don't know… like… maybe you were the only one, out of all of us, who not only loved her enough, but _trusted _her enough to go that close to her and _try_… Perhaps whatever part of Willow that was still good noticed that…" Xander listened as everything fell into place in Anya's brain. "It makes sense. I tried to battle her with magic – all those silly protection spells around Giles and Buffy – which didn't work because she was too powerful. Giles tried outsmarting her and that made it worse. And Buffy tried to fight it out of her; honestly, I think that just pissed her off. But nobody ever stopped to try and love her, not like you did."

"Wow, An…" he said, amazed. "I think you're right." He smiled, then cast his gaze to the stairs, waiting for a promising shout of 'Eureka!' to filter down. Nothing came. "Still," he added, "I'm glad G-man finally managed to make her open up to him. I was starting to feel trapped, you know? And I was terrified of… of damaging her."

Anya didn't reply, understanding how it might have been for him. "Well, for what it's worth", she said, smiling warmly, "I think you were incredibly brave to stand up to her."

He smiled back. "Thank you." After a pause, he suddenly broke in with. "Do you think we have a chance, Anya?"

She looked surprised. "You and Willow?"

"No… you and me…" He then added, "Sorry, that sounded way better in my head…"

"Oh…" She looked serious. "I don't know, Xander. And I'm not just saying that as a scapegoat, either, I honestly mean that I don't know." She sighed. "We're both hurting. We're both to blame for things… and trust has to be rebuilt."

"I know…" He took a deep breath. The conversation had suddenly gotten a lot more difficult. "I want you to know… I… I forgive you for… y'know, the whole Evil Undead thing."

"Really?" She was surprised. They both knew she was as much to blame as Spike was; Xander was perhaps trying to justify his hatred of the vampire by laying no blame on anyone else. Buffy would take longer to forgive, he knew, but he was still certain it had been mainly Spike's fault. "Well… I can't say that I forgive you completely, not yet. It still hurts too much, but… I think I understand about why you couldn't marry me…"

"I guess that's a start…" Casually, to cover the fact that he was terrified, he added, "You know I still love you, right?"

"Oh, yes," she clarified, and replied, just as casually, "I still love you, too. But I'm not-"

"-ready. That's fine. I get it." There was a comfortable pause of mutual understanding, and then Anya decided she had to clear something up. It had been bugging her ever since she'd ended up living at the Summers' house by accident.

"Xander, you know what happened between me and Spike was as much my fault as his, don't you?"

He scowled. He knew that, all right. He just didn't want to admit it, because blaming it all on his sworn enemy was far easier. He knew that wasn't what Anya wanted to hear, though. "Yes…"

"So why are you still being so hard on him?"

"Because no matter what Buffy says, he's _evil._ He's the very epitome of everything she's supposed to be against."

"So was Angel," countered Anya, logically. She didn't know the exact history of Buffy and Angel, but she did know enough to make this particular point.

"Angel was good. And I didn't like him much to begin with either. But Spike's different…"

Anya looked thoughtful. "Angel was good because he had a soul, yes?" Xander could tell where she was going with this. He nodded slowly. "Well… Spike also has a soul…"

"It makes no difference… We both know he only went to get that soul in some pathetic attempt to make Buffy love him." To further back up his point, he added, "Angel's soul was a curse, hence the tall-dark-and-broody. Spike _wanted_ one… and I hope it drives him insane."

Anya was feeling particularly diplomatic today; she was also being incredibly insightful, suddenly realising the truth of everything. She'd had a lot of time alone to think, mainly about herself and Xander, but also about her friends. She'd also been around for a fair few centuries, and had dealt with her share of relationships, human and demon alike. Which is why she managed to make her next argument with a certain level of confidence. "If Spike does go insane, it won't be because of the soul, you know…" Xander gave her a questioning look. "It'll be because of Buffy."

"Even better," he muttered. "She can drive him insane and then stake him, like she should have done a long time ago."

She sighed. "You're missing the point…"

"Which is?"

"Spike knows how Buffy feels about him – he told me so himself." Seeing a brief rage flash in Xander's eyes, albeit involuntarily, she quickly changed tactics. "Buffy's in love with him-"

Xander scoffed. "No, she's not…"

"Yes. She is," said Anya, adamantly. "She just hasn't realised it yet, or won't admit it… and that's what'll drive Spike crazy. And now he's got this soul, he'll probably willingly let it, too."

Xander stared at her a long time, thinking about it. It was beginning to make rather too much sense – Buffy hadn't let him kill Spike after the incident at the Magic Box, even though she must have been hurting just as much. She hadn't killed him herself after what happened in the bathroom. He didn't like to think about it, but it was entirely possible. "Okay. Let's say you're right. Let's say she _is_ in love with him. It's not going to change my opinion of Spike. It's not going to change the fact that he's killed, and that he cheats, and steals, and hurts people, and soul or no soul, he's always going to be bad…" Then, he realised something. "You… don't know why he left, do you?"

"To get the soul." The 'duh' was implied.

"No, An… he tried to rape Buffy."

She froze at the abruptness of the statement, thus proving that she really didn't know. "When…?" Xander worked it out, and told her. To his credit, he did grudgingly clarify that nothing had, in fact, happened, that Buffy had managed to stop him. Anya considered this new information. "Well, the fact that Spike is not a pile of dust should convince you how she feels about him. She's spoken to him since he came back; she may have even forgiven him, Xander… you can only ever forgive those who hurt you if you love them enough to do it…" As she made this last point, she stared at him meaningfully, and he remembered his words to her previously – he'd forgiven her for sleeping with Spike that night, even though it had cut him to his very core.

Reluctantly, he had to admit she was right. He sighed heavily, wanting to be right for once, and knowing that this time, he definitely wasn't. He wasn't going to pretend to like the vampire, however; not unless said vampire did something profoundly amazing to change his opinion of him, which he doubted was going to happen. "All right, Anya… for Buffy's sake, I guess I can lay off the Spike-jibes for a while…"

"Good." She nodded, satisfied at a job well done. Casually, semi-joking, she added, "Willow likes him, too-"

"Whoa, okay… not goin' there…" They both laughed slightly, the atmosphere clearing between them briefly. Their thoughts returned to the situation in hand, that of the rampant Magic and how to catch it.

"I think we're going to need Spike for this, anyway. The more people, the better. You're going to have to play nice."

"I think I can manage that for now…"

She smiled, and they nodded in mutual agreement. She reached for her discarded book and found where she'd got to, settling back down on the sofa to finish reading it, while Xander flicked the television back on.

Another hour passed in amicable half-silence, the only sounds the quiet noises from the set, and Anya's occasional page turning. The muffled sound of Dawn's music filtered down from her room, and once – only once – Willow's laughter was heard, which was a good sign towards both her recovery and obtaining an answer to their puzzle. Dawn's music stopped after a while and she emerged from her bedroom, and headed down the stairs towards the kitchen. There was brief rummaging in there, and then she reappeared looking perturbed.

Xander looked up at her from his position on the floor. "What's up, Dawnster?"

She pouted. "We're out of food again…" That being said, she stood at the bottom of the staircase and yelled for Giles to come down.

The rather harassed looking older man came out of Willow's room and rubbed his eyes tiredly – they'd been researching and discussing possible solutions for two hours with very little to show for it. "Yes, what is it, Dawn?"

She indicated the kitchen. "No food. Dawn hungry."

"None at all?" he asked, heading down the stairs to investigate for himself. As he passed the couple in the lounge, he said, "Could one of you sit with Willow? We're nearly on to something," he explained, "but if I read even one more word I think my head's going to explode…" Dawn giggled and followed him towards the kitchen.

Anya nodded and got up. "I'll go. I'm at one with the thinking right now…" Xander smiled gratefully at her and took up the book she was reading, making an effort to help instead of rotting his brain with the television show that was on.

Giles opened a cupboard and saw that Dawn was right. "Oh, dear. Well," he said, checking his watch, "the supermarket'll be closed by now, so I suppose it'll have to be-"

"Pizza!" she interrupted. "Please, please, please?"

"All right, pizza…"

"We'll have to go get it, though. They opened this new place and they _never_ get it here on time; it's not worth calling them…"

Giles sighed. Nothing ever seemed to be simple these days. He gestured for Dawn to go ahead of him and they made their way to the front door. "Dawn has requested pizza," he said to Xander. "What are you having?"

He thought. "Hmm… pepperoni, ham, heavy on the cheese…"

"And the others?"

"Willow likes a little of everything; Anya'll only eat margherita. And Buffy usually has either… ham and pineapple or one of those really spicy deals."

Giles looked vaguely horrified at the prospect, and Dawn clarified, "Yeah, she likes her pizza to bite back, or something…"

"I'd go with the H-and-P if I were you," said Xander. "We can keep it for when she's back…"

The ex-Watcher nodded, making a mental note of the orders, before ushering Dawn out to the car. The house fell relatively silent again as his car pulled off the drive and drove away. Xander, who had moved to the couch, was beginning to find _Magics And Their Realms _quite interesting, if completely useless to their cause, when there was a knock at the door. He put the book down on the couch. Getting up to answer the door, he muttered to himself, "That was quick…"

Upstairs, Anya had found Willow asleep, tired out from all the researching and brainstorming, but she supposed this was probably a good thing – she needed to conserve as much energy as possible if she was going to purge the Magic from her system. Anya settled herself down with one of the larger books – Xander had been right, Giles _had_ kept all the decent books to himself – and kept one eye on Willow while she read it.

She heard the front door open but thought nothing of it; as an afterthought, she closed the bedroom door over so Willow wouldn't wake up.

Xander opened the door, expecting to find that Giles had perhaps forgotten an order, or even his keys, or Dawn needed the bathroom, or something similarly mundane. Instead, he was greeted by the one thing he'd hoped wouldn't appear on the doorstep.

"Spike…" The blond vampire, hands jammed firmly into the pockets of his duster and head down, stood there with none of his usual cool confidence. He seemed nervous, in fact. He didn't force his way in, either. Xander eyed him suspiciously. "Can we help you?"

"Uh… Slayer came by earlier; said she'd got a plan, or something. Said I should make my way here so she could tell everyone together…" He raised his head and tried to peer around Xander into the house. "She back yet?"

"No." He stood squarely in the doorway, blocking Spike's entry to the house. He may have still been invited, but Xander wasn't prepared to let that stand between him and his new mission of keeping Spike on the other side of the door. He eyed him suspiciously. "Did she really invite you over here?"

"Yes," he said, annoyed. "She told me she'd be back by now."

"Well, she's not."

"I can see that." He was now beginning to see that Xander was determined to rile him up, and had decided not to give him the satisfaction. "I'll just come in and wait for her, then." With that, he forced his way into the house. Xander took a deep breath to calm his rising irritation and then silently closed the door.

Spike looked around as if he was seeing the place for the first time, admiring it. He removed his duster and laid it casually over the banister, then moved to examine some photos he'd never noticed before. The house smelt different, somehow… unless it was his soul messing with his vamp senses, of course. Even if it was, though, there was definitely something different… it still smelt of Buffy, and Dawn, and Willow, as always. And now, of Xander, Anya, and Giles, depending on how long they'd been staying there… so what else was there?

Then, he realised: despite his infrequent visits to the Summers residence, it had, nevertheless, retained some of his own scent. Now, in his absence, and presumably because of an attempt by Buffy to erase all memory of him in a cleaning spree, he was gone… Spike shrugged. Soon rectify that situation… He caught sight of a picture of Joyce with her two daughters and stroked the glass on the front with unconcealed adoration. Maybe he'd ask Buffy nicely if he could have a copy…

Xander watched Spike with fluctuating expressions of calm, disgust, and brief wonder. He watched especially carefully as Spike touched the photograph, preparing to intervene if he stole it, then relaxed again when the vampire dropped his hand to his side once more. Eventually, Xander lost interest in him and cast his gaze up the stairs, wondering if he should tell Anya and Willow that Spike was in the house; Buffy was obviously going to call a Scooby meeting on her return and he'd be saving her time if he did. Before he could decide, however, he caught sight instead of Spike's duster, draped over the banister.

This was familiar; painfully familiar. He'd been standing in this exact same place; Spike's duster had been in the same place on the stair rail, almost arrogant-looking in the way it was slung there; and Buffy had been upstairs… Xander clenched a fist into the leather coat, where his hand was on the banister, and swallowed the growl he could feel forming in his throat. He'd promised Anya he'd 'play nice'. Anya was with Willow, and wouldn't know any better if he didn't… And right now, 'playing nice' was the furthest thing from his mind. Slowly and quietly, he approached the blond vampire, who currently had his back turned.

Spike finished perusing the photographs and decided he'd better at least attempt to make small talk. He turned to face the room again. Immediately, he toppled backwards with the force of Xander's fist making contact with his jaw. He was deceptively strong sometimes; the speed and surprise of the blow had knocked him straight to the floor.

He scrabbled to his knees, rubbing his jaw with one hand. "Bloody 'ell, Whelp!" he shouted. "What was that for?"

Xander shook his hand to get rid of the pain, and muttered under his breath until it subsided. Flexing his fingers to regain strength, he said, "Yeah, like you don't know…"

Spike had a pretty good idea. He was vaguely aware by this point that his lip was bleeding. "All right; I do. Guess I should have asked _who_ that was for…"

"You." Spike rolled his eyes; that wasn't what he'd meant. He was beginning to wonder when Xander had become quite so stupid, when he continued. "For coming back."

"Oh." He got to his feet and stared Xander defiantly in the eyes. If the shaman hadn't messed up, he'd at least have some chance at defending himself without getting a splitting headache. As it was, the chip wouldn't let him fight back, if it got that far, and his new soul-induced conscience was muttering at him about the possible consequences if he did. "Point taken, Harris," he said.

"Spike," said Xander, threateningly. "I don't think you understand. I know you're not going to leave, no matter how beaten down you get. You tried that once; didn't work out. So instead, you come crawling back here." Spike frowned, waiting for him to get to the point. "You really expect me to believe that Buffy asked you here? After what you did to her?"

"Hey, nothing happened-"

"How do I know that, hm?" He knew it wasn't true, but the truth wouldn't make his argument particularly sound. "For all I know, you might have come back here tonight to try again."

"Sure, Harris. When you, Red, Anya, Giles _and_ the Bit are all in the house? I may still have that stupid chip in my brain, but it doesn't make me a moron."

Xander gave up on that particular line of taunting, realising Spike did make a valid point. Not that he was going to admit that to his face, of course. "Okay, let's just put this in simple terms, shall we? I don't like you. You don't like me. We both like Buffy. We also, apparently, both like Anya."

Spike sighed irritably at the mention of the vengeance demon. "Look, we both know that was nothing. Just let it go. And as for Buffy-"

"Let it go?" he interrupted. "You slept with my _fiancée, _Spike!"

"Yeah. And _you_ left her at the altar." That earned him another punch in the jaw, and this time he felt it crack. That was going to smart later. This time, though, he managed to stay on his feet; he'd been expecting that one. "You know," he said, wiping the fresh trickle of blood from his lip, "you should really be taking this out on her, too. It wasn't all me in that magic shop."

There was a horrible pause while Spike waited for some kind of remark in return, but nothing came. Suddenly, Xander launched himself at him with a war-cry, both fists flailing, intent on causing as much damage as possible. Spike went down in seconds, more from being unprepared for the attack than anything, and Xander continued punching him – in the face, in the stomach, wherever he could reach that would cause plenty of pain.

"That's for Anya!" he shouted with one punch, "and _that_'s for Buffy!" with another.

Finally, Spike managed to force Xander off him by giving him a hefty shove; he sailed through the air about a foot and landed heavily against the arm of the couch. An instant later, Spike's chip kicked in and he clutched his head in agony. But at least Xander had stopped hitting him.

When the headache subsided, he looked across to see where Xander was, hoping to offer some kind of truce now he'd let out his anger. There was nobody by the couch. _Where the-?_ A sharp kick to his ribs soon told him Xander's whereabouts. Clearly, he wasn't finished. "Get up!" he demanded. "Get up and fight me!"

Spike rolled over, away from Xander's feet, and forced himself up. "Can't," he said. "You bloody know I can't."

"I _want_ you to fight me, Spike. Won't that override the chip?" He stood with arms wide, indicating he was free to be Spike's punching-bag, if he so chose. Spike wasn't sure if the chip worked like that, if it had any rules at all, but he wasn't about to spend the rest of the night being picked on.

"Why don't we find out?" he said. Xander hadn't anticipated this answer – he'd been expecting Spike to back down or try to talk him round – and, too late, he raised his arms to fend off the incoming blow. Spike hit him square in the nose and sent him flying into the stairs. The chip sent out a ponderous impulse, but nothing strong enough to incapacitate him again. This was a turn up for the books.

Xander struggled to his feet, not put off by the attack. This made it all far more interesting. "That's more like it," he said, wiping under his nose with the back of his hand, inspecting for blood. "A fight's exactly what I need right now, and you're just the vamp for the job."

"I'm honoured…" Now that he was adamant that Xander definitely wanted a fight, the chip wouldn't be a problem. Making a mental note of that particular design flaw for later use, Spike conjured up all the most irritating things Xander had ever done, just to make it more interesting. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

"I thought you'd never ask…"

The two circled each other like two predators, summing up their opponent's weaknesses. Unfortunately, because of the confined space of the lounge, Xander bumped into a piece of furniture. This distracted him just long enough for Spike to attack, and, within minutes, they were tearing each other to pieces, destroying most of the room in their wake. Common sense was no longer an option – each was determined to kill the other, or be killed trying…

__

To be continued…

Yikes! All right, I wasn't going to end there, but it's going to take me a whole lot longer to finish this section, and I wanted to get it up. So I've split it into two smaller parts. Plus, it's a nice cliffhanger… Review please! Chapter 16 should be arriving fairly soon…


	16. Chapter Sixteen

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer,etc. as on first chapter.

RATING: PG-13 again for language and more bloodshed…

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A/N: Continuing right from where we left off. Let's just pray Xander and Spike don't end up killing each other… Prepare for angst and drama. Oh, and some minor Spuffy, too ;)

(By the way, I know that technically Spike would have beaten Xander to within an inch of his life before now… but I'd just like to point out that Xander's running on pure rage and adrenaline, and it can make a person do bizarre things, not to mention give them bizarre strength. And anyway, a fight where Spike hits Xander once and knocks him down isn't really very much fun, is it?)

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Cradle

Chapter Sixteen

Anya probably would have remained engrossed in her book had Willow not stirred and distracted her; this in turn led her to wonder what had disturbed the redhead. She closed the large tome carefully and placed it on the pile at the end of the bed, then got up, casting a brief glance at Willow as she headed to the door.

"What…?" she asked, groggily, sitting up.

"Sh," whispered Anya, putting an ear to the door. There was an almighty crash from downstairs. "I think we might have a burglar…"

"Oh, God…" Willow dragged herself off the bed and went to stand behind Anya at the door. She'd gained a lot of strength since her 'meeting' with Tara and could now walk on her own again. "And Buffy's not back yet, either…"

"Nope…" There was another loud bang. "But it sounds like Xander's fighting him."

"Oh," said Willow, perking up. "Yay for Xander!" They both flinched as something that sounded expensive broke. "D'you think we should go help? O-or maybe we should call the police…"

"Or maybe we should just stay in here… We're the womenfolk; we're meant to be weak, and barricaded until help comes."

Willow looked at her strangely. She was about to disagree and go through the door ahead of Anya, but then there was an even louder crash and she thought better of it. She didn't feel like getting into the firing line. "Maybe you're right…"

Downstairs, the living room (and, in fact, adjoining parts of both the kitchen _and_ the dining room, as well as the stairs) appeared to be in a state of utter carnage. Ornaments were broken, furniture was either bent or broken beyond redemption, and there were even a few spools missing from the banister of the staircase. There was also a significant amount of blood on the floor.

Xander and Spike were still at it and showed no signs of stopping, now determined to fight to the death. Bruises were getting bruises, and bones were beyond broken, but still their war continued. They were blissfully unaware of the destruction they'd created, hell-bent on killing each other before the night was out. They'd re-used every insult and taunt four times over just to keep themselves going, knowing exactly what to say to make the other hurt. After all the years they'd spent swearing to be the cause of each other's demise, the time finally seemed to be upon them.

Spike threw Xander as hard as he could into the stair-rail, breaking another spool off. Xander hit the floor in a heap and struggled to get up. "Gettin' tired yet, Whelp?" he taunted, grinning.

"Not even close," coughed Xander, grabbing onto the broken spool just so he'd have something to use as a weapon. On closer scrutiny, it had broken off in such a way that the end was pointed. Xander realised with sudden clarity that he could win this – he had a makeshift stake in his hand, and with the right aim and accuracy, he could end it.

Spike realised this at the same time as Xander, and his only thought was that he had to either disarm him, or kill him, before he got himself dusted. They'd both slowed down considerably since the start of their fight, but, unfortunately, they now knew each other's moves far too well, and time was now definitely of the essence. Spike had a pretty good idea how Xander was going to attack, and if he could just-

__

Oh, shit… For a human, Xander could move incredibly fast when he wanted to. He seemed to running entirely on adrenaline alone, because there was no way he'd have been able to get from the floor to Spike in his current state. Spike suddenly found himself pinned to the floor, with Xander's improvised stake held mere inches from his heart, poised for the kill.

The blond vampire struggled, but it was futile. Xander had both his arms trapped and he wasn't strong enough to break free, having been winded when he hit the floor. This wasn't fair… if anyone was going to stake him, he'd wanted it to be Buffy, not Alexander Harris. "So, this is how it all ends, is it?" he asked, rhetorically. His tone was almost comical, as if he couldn't quite believe he was going to die like this.

"Save your breath for a last request, Spike…" Xander raised his arm high; he was going to enjoy this.

"It's gone very quiet," whispered Anya. "Perhaps it's safe to go down…"

Willow nodded in agreement. "I just hope it was Xander who won and not the evil criminal guy…"

Cautiously, Anya opened the bedroom door, and the two young women tiptoed down the corridor. They could hear distant voices, but the fight did appear to have finished. At the top of the stairs, they stopped, taking in the wreckage with curious horror, then very slowly made their way down…

Spike flicked his eyes between Xander's own and the stake in his hand, not sure which he was currently more scared of. The stake was a very real manifestation of his impending death, but Xander's eyes were full of blind rage and murderous calm, the likes of which he'd never seen in him before. He knew it had gone beyond the point of reasoning with him; he wasn't strong enough to fight him off, either..

Xander moved the stake a little higher as he readied himself. He couldn't believe it – he was finally going to be rid of Spike, for good. Of course, explaining it to everyone would be tough, but they'd come around to his point of view eventually, when they saw he'd done the right thing. In just a few short seconds, William the Bloody would be nothing more than a pile of dust.

Anya and Willow stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs when they saw the scene. It was like something from their worst nightmare – Xander, about to murder Spike, right in Buffy's house… with Buffy not around to help. The pair seemed oblivious to their audience, otherwise Spike probably would have shouted something. Words wouldn't form. Both of them merely froze, unable to move forwards and terrified of trying to intervene in case Xander accidentally hurt them. Anya, especially, was appalled… the last thing he'd promised her was that he'd 'play nice', and he'd quite blatantly broken that promise.

They could do nothing but watch in cold terror as Xander brought the stake down.

Suddenly, the front door slammed open. "What the _Hell_ is going on?!"

Buffy stood on the threshold, and she did not look impressed. From her perspective, she saw only that her house was in tatters, and that most of the destruction seemed to be centred around the two bloodied figures on her living room floor. Willow and Anya were clearly in too much shock to explain, and she doubted they knew what had occurred, anyway.

She strode purposefully towards the middle of the room. "I said, what the H-" Buffy stopped stock still when she reached them. The scene looked like it had been frozen in time. Xander, still straddling Spike's torso, had one hand clamped firmly on the vampire's arm to prevent him moving, and the other hand clutching his makeshift stake. The stake was sticking sickeningly out of Spike's chest. The pair stared at each other with unblinking eyes.

Slowly, it registered to Buffy that Spike wasn't turning to dust. On closer scrutiny, she could see that Xander had missed his heart, just barely; she'd burst through the door in the nick of time and surprised him enough for his aim to be off. Then, it registered that Xander had been trying to kill him, and, if their bruised and battered bodies were anything to go by, it had been a mere fluke that Spike hadn't killed him first.

She felt betrayed by them both, and tears sprung to her eyes. "Oh, my God…"

Willow and Anya shared a look, having both recovered from the initial shock and similarly realised that Xander had missed. They started to approach, not entirely sure what they were going to do. Willow went first, reaching a hand to Buffy from her position some distance away. "Buffy…?"

"Stay back," she ordered. "Just stay there…" They obeyed, standing close together. Neither Spike nor Xander had moved, and the latter's breathing was slow and uneven. He seemed to be in shock at what he'd nearly done. Spike was evidently dealing with the fact that he could _see_ the stake in his chest, but oblivion had failed to seize him. Buffy knew she had to get Xander out of there before she could do anything. "Xander…"

He seemed to snap out of it slightly, turning slowly to look at her. "Buffy. I…"

"Save it," she said, overly harshly. "Just let go of the stake, Xander." He looked back at it as if he didn't know what it was, or how he'd gotten hold of it. "Let go." The words failed to translate in his brain. Buffy reached over and forcibly prised his fingers from the wood, then worked on wrenching his other hand from Spike's arm. Once she'd managed that, she got up and physically pulled him off the vampire.

From the new perspective, Xander finally looked at what he'd done and completely snapped out of it. "Buffy, I… I'm sorry, I… he… we…" An explanation plainly refused to form in his mind. He didn't remember plunging the stake into Spike's chest, nor did he remember most of their fight. Looking around him, he was surprised at the amount of damage they'd done to the house. "I don't-"

"Xander, get out of my sight," said Buffy, darkly.

"But-"

"I will talk to you later about this… but I suggest you get out of here, before I do something I regret…"

He nodded. She was angry, too angry to be logical right now, so he wisely made his way to the back porch. He passed Anya on the way, and remembered what he'd promised. "An…" He reached out a hand in apology but she shrank back from it.

"I believed you," she said. "I trusted you…"

"I know, I-"

"What… on _Earth…_?" said a distinctly British voice from the doorway. Giles had returned with Dawn, bearing many pizza boxes. Spotting his Slayer on the floor near Spike, he decided she would probably know what had gone on in his absence. "Buffy, what happened here?"

Not tearing her gaze from Spike, trying to ascertain if he was even conscious, she said, "Why don't you ask Xander…"

"Well?"

"It was… a fight… we… we fought, and… that happened…" he mumbled.

"_What_ happened?" asked Dawn. Xander didn't have to answer, however, because she'd spotted Spike. "Oh, God. No!" She dropped the pizza boxes she was carrying and started to run over, but Buffy intervened.

"Giles, keep her away!"

He did as asked, tugging gently on Dawn's shoulder to stop her. She'd seen enough, though, and she burst into tears. "You…" she said to Xander. "You did this…"

"Dawn, I-"

She cut him off by slapping him soundly across the cheek, not caring about the fact that he probably had a broken jaw as it was, then instantly collapsed into Giles' arms. He moved her away from the scene, into the slightly safer haven of her room. Her sobs could still be heard, muffled though they were, through the closed door. Xander turned back to Willow and Anya. The former wouldn't meet his eyes, but that didn't surprise him; the latter merely stared back, looking utterly betrayed. Before he could say anything else, she vanished into midair, teleporting herself out of there.

Conceding defeat, Xander limped painfully through to the back porch, where he sat and waited for Buffy and the horrible conversation he knew was coming.

Back in the lounge, Willow and Buffy were alone with a skewered and silent Spike. Sensing that her friend probably needed help, Willow approached and knelt on the other side of him. She breathed in through her teeth when she saw the stake. Buffy seemed at a loss as to what to do next. The stake was very close to his heart and she didn't trust herself to remove it; her hands were shaking too much. Apart from this, she still hadn't managed to elicit any response from him.

Willow noticed, but didn't mention, that Buffy was gripping one of Spike's hands firmly in her own. She decided it was best to stay silent and wait until Buffy asked for help, rather than trying to take over.

Buffy hovered her other hand in his field of vision to see if it might bring him round. Nothing happened. She moved the hand to his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. Still nothing. Finally, as a last resort, she leant close to his ear. "Spike? Can you hear me?" Again, nothing happened. Buffy repeated the question over and over, getting desperate. Finally, Willow could bear it no longer and did the same in Spike's other ear.

It wasn't working. Spike blinked, once, and that was all. Buffy looked across at Willow as she straightened up. "Will… what do we do?"

"I… I don't know, Buffy…"

"D-do you think we should move the stake?"

Willow examined it. "M-maybe."

Buffy nodded slowly, then, letting go of Spike's hand, she took the stake in both hands and pulled. It moved about a millimetre, then Spike suddenly moved. Buffy let go of it and fell back, shocked, as did Willow, giving him space. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head to clear it, then focussed on a very worried-looking Buffy. When he spoke, he was obviously back to normal.

"Who died, pet?"

She smiled in spite of herself, relieved. "You nearly did, you big doofus…"

"Eh?" Then, he spotted the stake from the corner of his eye and realised what she was talking about. He eyed it nervously. "Did you do that?"

"No…" she told him. "Will, can you help me sit him up?"

Her friend nodded and between them they managed to get him almost upright, very carefully, and propped him up against what was left of Buffy's coffee table. Willow perched carefully on the arm of the now-creaking couch. Spike looked around, horrified. "Bloody hell… did Xander and I do this?"

"Yeah," said Buffy, her relief at his coming around turning back into anger at Xander, and now slightly at Spike, too. "The next time you guys decide to fight it out, can you _not_ total my living room?"

He looked sincere and apologetic. "I'm really sorry, Buffy… honestly. I… I don't even know what happened. I came over like you asked and Xander wouldn't believe me… I didn't even provoke him that I know of, but next thing I knew he'd punched me in the face, and then…" He gestured to his bruised body and the mess they'd left. "I admit, we both completely lost it… fightin' to the death, we were. Never thought he'd actually try to dust me, though."

"Me neither," admitted Buffy.

Spike reached up for her hand. "That honour's reserved for you, love… You know that."

Why, all of a sudden, was that simple statement, something she'd known without him having to tell her, like poetry to her ears? Since his return from Africa, he suddenly had an incredibly irritating ability to say the most mundane things and make them sound beautiful. Buffy wasn't quite ready to deal with how he was making her feel lately, and nearly losing him at the hand of her best friend had only made it worse. Now, he was looking at her That Way, with the small smile that told her he loved her without him needing to say anything.

She broke free of his grasp, and crouched to his level. "I need to talk to Xander. I'll leave you with Will. That okay with you both?" Spike looked at Willow to make sure she was comfortable with the plan, and when she indicated that it was fine, he nodded. "Good. Willow, look after him, okay?"

"I will. I'll go get the First Aid box, if it's still intact…" She headed to the kitchen, where she knew they kept some supplies, leaving Buffy alone with Spike for a few minutes. She stayed with him while Willow hunted.

Spike laughed a little bitterly, and also slightly amused. "Can't believe I'm sitting here with a bleedin' stake sticking out my chest…" Buffy couldn't believe it either. Apart from that, he seemed relatively intact. The wounds from the trials were bleeding again from Xander's punches, he was bruised, and he had a split lip and a small cut on his forehead. Another bruise was forming on his cheek. "I… I want you to know… if it'd been the other way 'round, I wouldn't have killed him."

She smiled and put a hand to his cheek. "Yeah, you would…"

"All right, I would… but I wouldn't have been happy about it afterwards…"

Buffy heard Willow coming back and removed the hand. She looked serious. "I'm not going to let him get away with this, Spike. I promise. Best friend or not, he's gonna learn not to mess with my business… or yours…" Spike smiled gratefully. Before she got up, Buffy leaned over, being careful to avoid the stake and his split lip, and gave him a chaste kiss, not unlike the one she'd granted him after his ordeal with Glory. She pulled back and stood up, and was rewarded with a curious, but happy, smile, just as Willow came back with the First Aid kit.

The red head sat herself on the floor near Spike and started unpacking the contents of the box. Buffy cast one final knowing glance at Spike, then headed outside to talk to Xander. This wasn't going to be pretty…

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To be continued…

Two very long and very different conversations coming in Chapter 17, which should be up tomorrowish. These last two and the next one were all meant to be one chapter, but it ran away from me. Anyway, at least I get more reviews this way ;) Keep 'em coming, please!


	17. Chapter Seventeen

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

A/N: What, you thought I'd really kill Spike? ;) Anyway, two very long and odd conversations between Buffy/Xander and Willow/Spike, two relationships that have as yet been unexplored in the fic except in passing. And some more minor Spuffy, too. Review-wise, I'd like to say: nine more and I'll have my first centennial :D Help me reach my target, people!

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Cradle

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Chapter Seventeen

Sitting on the top step of the back porch, Xander felt as though he'd been waiting for Buffy for hours. The massive adrenaline rush that had aided his final, almost fatal attack on Spike had completely diminished, and he'd only just managed to stop shaking. He knew he'd made a terrible mistake. At the time, he'd wanted nothing more than to watch Spike dissolve all around him… and he'd been so close, until Buffy arrived, bursting into the room and causing him to miss. Now, all of a sudden, he was partially glad of it.

Buffy was furious, and rightly so. The last time he'd seen her this angry had probably most likely been when Dawn was in danger, or, ironically enough, at Spike. _If_ she ever forgave him, he couldn't think how to make it up to her. He was unable to deny it any longer – if Buffy's reaction had been anything to go by, Anya was right. Whether she realised it or not, she had strong feelings for Spike, and almost losing him had definitely made it hit closer to home.

He stared at his hands, turning them palm down and palm up. His knuckles were bruised, bloodied, and aching, unsurprisingly, and he had Spike's blood on his palms. He couldn't even remember who had started it, but had a horrible suspicion it was him. The intensity with which he'd determined to kill the vampire scared him; he'd never been so completely blinded by rage before. _Was this how Willow had been?_ he wondered. It was no surprise she'd been so fragile after her ordeal.

He heard the kitchen door open, and Buffy emerged; she walked straight past him, taking up a position in front of him, standing with her arms folded in a calm, collected stance. Xander was glad she'd taken time to cool off, rather than attempting to talk to him in her previous state.

She didn't have a clue where to begin. Everything hurt too much. Of the two, Xander appeared to be the worst off, sporting far more bruises to his face than Spike, a black eye, and probably a fair few cracked ribs if the way he was sitting was any indication. Spike did have superior strength, and, as she'd suspected, it had been more dumb luck than judgement that Xander had won.

The silence between them was penetrating in the garden. Xander forced himself to look up at Buffy, his neck and shoulders creaking in complaint; he winced at the contempt in her expression as she looked back at him. His voice raw from yelling at Spike, and from lack of energy, he very cautiously asked, "Is he okay?"

Buffy sensed he was going sincere, for her sake if not Spike's, but it didn't stop her answer from being decidedly snippy. "Yeah. No thanks to you."

Xander lowered his head into his hands. "God, Buffy… I'm sorry…"

"You really think an apology is going to cut it this time?" Her voice was calm, but there was no denying the anger underneath.

"No. I know it won't. But I don't know how to… what to do…"

"You can start," she suggested, beginning to pace irritably, "by telling me where you get off just _attacking _him like that!"

Xander sighed heavily, pain shooting through his chest as he did so. "I don't think I can explain, Buffy. It was like… I was reliving that moment when I found you in the bathroom… and when I saw him with Anya." He shuddered. "And all I could think about was… was destroying him."

"That's no excuse," she said. "I know he hurt you. He's hurt us all at some point. But that's just Spike, Xander; it's who he is." She ceased her pacing. "I know you two have never exactly been on the best of terms, and believe me, I'm just as disappointed in him for fighting back… but killing him wouldn't have solved anything. That Magic would still be loose out there, only we'd have less chance of stopping it without Spike; Will would still be fighting it out of her system; Tara would still be dead… you and Anya would still be separated…"

She'd demonstrated enough; Xander got the idea. "God, I've messed up… The last thing Anya wanted from me was to behave around Spike… I let her down… but I just couldn't stop it, Buff." He didn't even try to stop the tears that suddenly coursed down his cheeks. "Everything's been so damn hard – with Will, with Anya. I'm just not strong enough for this. And I don't understand; I can't. This whole thing with you and Spike, it's-"

"That's not it, Xander," she interrupted. "It's not that you can't. You just _won't_. You wouldn't even try."

He knew she was right. Buffy always seemed to be right. Lately, he always seemed to be wrong. "I guess I didn't want to," he admitted. "I wanted to protect you, that's all."

"I remember when it used to be the other way around." She sighed. "I don't need you to protect me, Xander. What I _do_ need is for you to trust me, and support me, no matter what my decisions are. It's not that much to ask from you."

"I know," he said. "I was an idiot."

Buffy looked at him defiantly; she was clearly not finished with him yet. It was time for some home truths. Everything she'd been wanting to say came flooding out in an emotional tirade. "You know the reason I didn't tell anyone about me and Spike? Because of you. Because I knew you wouldn't be able to accept it. Willow, I wasn't sure about, but I thought she'd be okay with it; I knew Dawn would probably be happy for me. I only told Tara out of desperation, because I was confused and scared… scared that Spike was right, that I _had_ come back 'wrong'. I mean, why else would I be sleeping with him? As you so eloquently put it that day I got turned invisible, 'nobody in their right mind' would sleep with Spike, not unless they were a 'moron like Harmony, or a nutsack like Drusilla'..." Off his look, she clarified, "Yes, Xander. I was already sleeping with him back then…" She paused. "I thought I was going crazy… Hell, I _was_ going crazy, and I couldn't tell anyone but Spike. And maybe it _was_ a stupid thing to do, to let him into my life like that, but it happened. It happened… and I'm glad it did… despite the decidedly sucky outcome."

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" he asked, everything starting to click together. She didn't answer straight away. "That's what everyone seems to think."

"Everyone's thinking wrong, then. I'm not in love with Spike." She didn't sound very convincing, even to herself. However, she'd promised herself that this was going to be her truth session, if she was going to get through to Xander, so she continued. "I do have feelings for him; I'm not denying that. After everything, it's impossible for me to keep telling myself that I don't. Maybe I'd even go so far now as saying I care for him – and I guess on some insane level I have you to thank for that – but I don't love him."

Xander seemed to accept this, but even if he didn't, he wasn't about to question her on it. "I understand. I can't believe how much of a jerk I was when I found out… if I'd just let you explain-"

"Then we wouldn't be here right now, I know. It's the past, Xander; what's gone is gone. It's just unfortunate it had to get this far."

"It's just… when I found out… apart from the fact that I'm hardly Spike's biggest fan, I couldn't help remembering what had happened the last time you fell for a vampire, Buffy. It ended badly. I didn't want to see you get hurt again… or hurt more… after all, Spike didn't have a soul then."

"Angel was different," she said, ignoring the soul comment – that was something she was still trying to deal with herself. "And don't you think I've made all the comparisons myself before now, hundreds of times?" He nodded numbly. "All that mattered was that Spike loved me. Even when I didn't believe him, it was all that mattered…"

His next question surprised her. "Do you believe him now? He got a soul for you, Buffy." It seemed he'd finally accepted it himself; either that, or he was too exhausted to argue any more.

She thought about it. That same phrase kept ringing in her brain, the one that had caused her epiphany on the stairs before pouring everything out to Giles – _'You only hurt the ones you love, pet…' _"I believed him before now… I believed him when he hurt me…" Seeing that Xander was confused, she changed the subject. "It's not your concern. Which is what I more or less came out here to tell you. My business is just that – mine. Not yours. Not Spike's. Not anybody's Mine. Just like yours is yours, and your problems with Anya, too. I'm staying out of it. I only wish you could have granted me that same courtesy."

Xander's apology was evident in his eyes, but he couldn't phrase it in the correct way for it to sound as sincere as he intended it. He could only hope she realised. They'd reached a stalemate. Buffy could think of nothing more to say to him, and didn't have the energy to spend all night reprimanding his ears off about what he'd done; Xander didn't have a clue what to do next.

"If there's anything I can do, Buffy… seriously. Just tell me."

She looked thoughtful. He was being honest. "Oh, yeah, there's lots of things you can do. First of all, you can apologise to Spike, and you can _mean _it."

"I guess I deserve that…"

She nodded. "Second of all, as soon as you're able to, you can fix the damage you did to the house." Xander nodded; that made sense. "And lastly, you can be there for Will when she purges that Magic. That was going to be part of the plan, if I'd gotten a damn chance to tell you all…"

"You can count on it," he assured her. "But what must she think of me, though? I just went and acted on the same kind of crazy impulses that she's recovering from… and Anya looked so disappointed. God only knows what Dawn thinks of me."

"They'll get over it. We can work through this like we do everything else. That's what we do best." She looked at him. If they were going to stop the Magic, he was currently in no fit state. "As for you, you need to get yourself to the hospital and get yourself checked out. I'll go tell Giles what happened and get him to take you."

Xander nodded. "I guess you're right. I'll tell them I got beaten up on the street, or something."

"I'd say that's a good idea." She walked past him again, back towards the house. As an afterthought, she turned at the doorway and added, "On the plus side, I think Spike has a lot more respect for you."

He smiled in spite of himself. That sounded like Spike, all right…

While Buffy talked to Xander in the back garden, Willow and Spike were having a conversation of their own…

"Hold still!" ordered Willow, preparing to remove the stake from Spike's chest. It was proving difficult because he continued to twitch, probably involuntarily.

"Easy enough for you to say," he said. "You're not the one who just stared Death in the face."

"I know, but if you keep wriggling like that, you're gonna be staring at him again…"

Spike looked thoughtful. "I like you – you're sensible." Willow smiled, amused, wondering how he managed to make light of even the worst situation. It was even more impressive for the fact that he was obviously in a lot of pain.

"Glad you think so. Now, do you want this thing out, or not?" He gave her a _'what do you think?'_ look, then braced himself, his palms flat on the floor. Willow tightened her grip on the stake. "Ready?" Spike nodded and gritted his teeth. Willow pulled as hard as she could; Spike howled as it dislodged, finally pulling free as Willow tossed it aside. She let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. "There…"

Spike winced as the air hit the wound, and he was pretty sure there were splinters in there, too. "You know, for someone who's supposed to believe in doing no harm, you seem to be bloody good at it…"

"Sorry…" she said, sheepishly. "This looks pretty deep, Spike." She fingered it cautiously, then, averting her gaze somewhat shyly, she added, "Could you, uh, take off your shirt?"

He obliged while she figured out what to use for the best. When she turned back, she started at the sight of the bandages wrapped around his upper body. Fresh blood was seeping through from Xander's attack having aggravated the earlier wounds. Spike had done as Buffy had asked, however, and grudgingly gotten Clem to change the dressings. There was now a neat, round hole through them where the stake had pierced his chest.

Willow unwrapped him tentatively and resisted the urge to ask about what he'd gone through to get the scars and burns. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. Giving him fair warning, and attempting to distract him while she did so, she set about cleaning him up. "Good thing about that vampy super-healing, huh?"

"Yeah," said Spike, breathing sharply through his teeth. "Xander came bloody close to finishing me off, though."

Willow padded the stake wound thoroughly and started re-wrapping the vampire in fresh bandages. She couldn't quite believe what had happened before, that she was repairing what might have been fatal damage, caused by her best friend, someone she'd known for over fifteen years. She didn't exactly consider Spike a friend, but she didn't have any problems with him on a personal level, and she certainly didn't want him dead. He made life more interesting for everyone… and she didn't want to contemplate what effect it might have had on Buffy.

She finished up with the bandages and shook herself out of her reverie. "There," she said. "All done and good as new… sorta."

"Thanks, Red." Spike got up painfully from his position on the floor, intending to leave. Then he realised he could hardly walk and got as far as the – by now slightly dented – couch before giving up, crashing down to sit on it. Willow put the remaining supplies back into the First Aid box and went to sit next to him, not really wanting to be alone and knowing Giles was still busy comforting Dawn. At the very least, she could talk to Spike about _something_.

"So," she offered, grinning slightly, "didja see your life flash before your eyes? I always wondered if that was true or not.

Spike smiled back weakly. "Sorry to disappoint, but no." The smile fell again. "But… I _did _see Buffy… When that stake hit, I… I pretended it was her doing the deed. Made it seem more worthwhile, y'know?" Willow nodded sympathetically. Spike examined his hands, hands he would willingly have used to beat Xander to a bloody pulp not ten minutes ago. "Then… while I was out of it… I saw her cryin'. Like she was sorry I'd gone."

Willow said nothing. Spike, after all this time, still doubted where Buffy's affections lay. If only he'd seen the panic in her eyes when she'd thought him dead, he probably wouldn't. "You… you really do love her, don't you?"

He looked at her curiously. It was an honest question that he suspected she already knew the answer to. "Yeah. More than I think she knows."

"Have you told her?" He was about to give her a pedantic reply – she _knew _he'd told her – when she added, "I mean, I know you've _told_-told her, but have you actually let her know how much? With actual words?"

He scoffed. "Like she'd give me the chance!"

"She might," countered Willow. "Now you're back. I… I think she missed you…"

"No, she didn't. All she missed was having her own personal punching bag."

"Well… that's a start, right?" She offered a weak smile. Spike didn't return it. "Why don't you try, Spike? When this is all over, just… just talk to Buffy."

"Don't know if you've noticed, Red, but Buffy and I aren't big on the whole talkin' thing. And the last time I tried that, I ended up…" He fought down a shudder. "I ended up… making it worse."

Willow thought about it for a while. If there was even the smallest chance that Buffy returned his feelings, then Spike needed to see that for himself. Either he was completely blind, or she'd beaten him down so much he simply refused to believe she could ever love him. The circumstances of his disappearing weren't helping matters, either. She tried a different tactic, playing on Spike's inherent 'badness'. "I bet you're just scared, aren't you?"

"What?" he asked, indignant. "No." He said this with just enough lack of conviction for Willow to push with her reasoning.

"You are!" Spike shook his head exasperatedly, but she carried on. "You're scared that she'll laugh at you, or that it won't make any difference."

He was about to deny it, but then conceded that she was partially right. He sighed. "All right, I am… Well, something like that." He explained, "Imagine it, Willow – I talk to Buffy and it makes absolutely no difference whatsoever. She won't believe me; she hasn't so far. She's not going to just… fall into my waitin' arms, is she?"

"I'm not suggesting she will, Spike. But… but if she realises how you feel, it might bring her around, and then… who knows? It's worth a try." Spike didn't say anything, but it looked like he was thinking about it. "Hey, I got an idea!" she said, suddenly enthusiastic. "Why don't you tell me, first?"

He looked incredulous. "Yeah, because _that_ won't be weird at all…" He obviously hadn't lost his touch for sarcasm.

"No, I mean it," she said, sitting cross-legged on the couch and getting more comfortable. "Come on. Tell me how you feel about Buffy. Then, when you tell _her_, it'll be easier."

He ignored the fact that she'd very subtly said "when" and not "if". He conceded defeat. "Fine…" He didn't meet Willow's eyes, merely stared at the floor, or his fingernails, fidgeting. After a few seconds of thought, he started. "I love Buffy. I know that, you know that, she knows that. It's wrong – I know it's wrong – but I do. No matter what she does, I can't stop… and I still keep hopin' she'll realise she loves me, too. She says she doesn't, but… I've seen it in her eyes. I thought maybe the soul might change things, and all it did was make me needier, and Buffy hurt more than before." Suddenly, he looked up again, staring at Willow. "She's my whole life, Red. I'd let her be my death, if I had to."

Willow could think of nothing to say except, "Wow…" Spike wasn't finished, though; he was on a roll.

"Here's something ironic for you. Dru turned me; I loved her, too. Buffy thinks I can't love, but she seems to forget – I was with Dru over a century. If that isn't love, I don't know what is. But the ironic thing is, in simple terms, I loved Dru because she made me what I am – and I love Buffy because she makes me feel like what I was."

The ex-Wiccan stared at him. "Whoa… Spike, that's it. That's exactly what you should say to her."

"You think so?" Willow nodded. "Well… all right. If I get a chance, I'll… I'll try and talk to her." Then, a curious silence descended around them, as they both ran out of things to say.

On the stairs, Buffy had been witness to the end of their conversation. She'd entered the house through the dining room and was going to make her presence known, when she'd heard her name mentioned. Silently, she'd set up a vigil on the other side of the wall, where they couldn't see her, and listened to Spike's heartfelt commentary. _Again with the making-everything-sound-like-poetry,_ she thought, as a tear rolled down her cheek. _Damn vampire._ Cursing him didn't seem right, though, not now. She felt like she ought to say 'thank you'. Just as she was about to make her presence known, the two started talking again.

Spike suddenly noticed that Willow appeared to be crying, and was making a bad job of trying to hide it when she saw him watching her. "What's'matter, Red? I never thought you were the sentimental type."

"S-sorry… it's not that…" She sniffed. "I was just thinking about Tara."

Spike had almost forgotten about that. "Oh. Yeah, I… I heard about what happened." He'd done his fair share of listening over the past year, so he figured one more time wouldn't hurt. "You want to, um, talk about it?"

She nodded meekly. "It's just… you seem to… to love Buffy, so much, and it feels like… like I couldn't even love Tara enough to stop using magic when she asked. And maybe if I had, she'd still be here."

"Hey… that wasn't your fault she died, and you know it."

"It was, though… We'd just made up, and… and that's why we were getting up late… if I'd just stopped the magic, then she wouldn't have left and we wouldn't have _had_ to make up…" The sentence trailed off into tears.

"Willow," he said, pointedly. "It was _not_ your fault. Tara knew how you felt, didn't she?" Willow nodded, biting back her sobs. "Well, then, she died happy." His explanation wasn't having the desired effect; all of a sudden, Willow pitched herself into his arms and gave him very little choice but to try and comfort her. At a loss, Spike conceded to mutter incoherently until she calmed down.

At which point, Buffy decided to emerge from the dining room. She was momentarily surprised by the image of Willow crying on Spike, but seeing his decided awkwardness at the situation, her surprise turned to amusement. She cleared her throat and folded her arms in assumed condescension.

Spike looked over as she said, "I don't know, I leave you with my best friend for one minute…"

He let go of Willow, who stood up and wiped her eyes. "Oh, Buffy, it's not… it's… Spike was just-"

"Calm down, Will. I'm kidding."

They both visibly relaxed. "Did you talk to Xander?" she asked.

"Yeah. He seems pretty shaken up by it, actually. I don't think he knew what he was doing."

"Try tellin' that to the hole in my chest," said Spike.

Buffy smiled. "You okay?"

He nodded. "Willow patched me up just fine. Should heal in no time."

"Good." She cast her eyes to the stairs. "I guess I'd better go tell Dawn everything's fine, and get Giles to take Xander to the hospital. Talking of which, I've told him to apologise to you. Please don't make it any harder."

Spike had seen the effects of not provoking Xander. He didn't want to find out what happened if he did. "You've got my word, pet."

Buffy nodded gratefully. "Will, has Anya reappeared yet?"

She shook her head. "No, but I doubt she's gone far. I think she was pretty close to a solution before, so I'm sure she'll come back."

"Well, when she does, tell her that I've spoken to Xander, and to save anything she needs to say to him until after we beat this thing, okay?"

"I will."

With that, Buffy took a deep breath and headed upstairs. She knocked on Dawn's door, and vanished inside. Willow and Spike waited, with some curiosity. Then, the door was flung open and the teenager emerged in a flurry of arms and brunette hair as she bounded down the stairs with Buffy in hot pursuit telling her to calm down. Before Spike knew what was happening, Dawn had attached herself to him.

"You're okay!" she squealed. "You're not dust, you're okay…"

"Takes more than a little staking to keep me down, Bit."

Dawn squealed again and squeezed him tighter. Spike shrugged and hugged her back, while Buffy and Giles watched from the bottom of the stairs. Giles never ceased to be amazed by the way Dawn could switch from crying hysterically to giggling without so much as batting an eyelid. It hadn't quite registered what had happened until this particular moment, seeing Spike standing and obviously not dust. He was shocked by Xander's actions; even though he'd been considering the same thing himself, he doubted, if the opportunity arose, that he'd go through with it. And now, seeing Dawn so happy to have him alive – and Buffy, to some degree – he realised he could never stick to his oath. In the back of his mind, it registered that their pizzas had probably gone cold.

Buffy smiled at her sister and Spike, slightly jealous at the ease with which Dawn hugged him, unquestioningly. They'd always had a special bond, one she never quite understood. She tore her gaze from them and looked to her Watcher.

"Giles, could you take Xander to the hospital?"

He nodded. "Yes. Of course." He paused to watch Dawn as she finally released Spike. "I can't believe he was even capable of this."

"I know…"

As if on cue, Xander hobbled through to the lounge. He surveyed the various expressions in the room as he entered – Buffy's was considerably less angry than before, now that she'd let off steam, Willow had come to terms with it after her initial shock (and he could tell she'd been crying, but that was too much to deal with right now), Giles looked disappointed in him, and Dawn held him in a contemptuous gaze. Spike was the only one, however, who would meet his eyes. The vampire nodded at him as he walked past, settling some kind of silent truce.

Xander stopped in the middle of the room, in full view of everyone, and looked at his adversary. "Spike."

"Harris."

"I just wanted to say that… I'm sorry it got this far… and… for starting the fight." He meant it, and Spike could tell.

"Thanks." He wanted to tell him that he was just as sorry for the Anya situation, but he wasn't ready just yet. The boy had nearly dusted him and he deserved to make him squirm just a little longer. "You fight pretty damn well, for a human."

Xander smiled very weakly to show he appreciated the strange compliment, then turned to Buffy. She seemed satisfied. "Okay, Giles. Let's go."

The older man nodded silently, not entirely sure what he should say to him, and led him out to the car. There was complete silence as they drove away, and then, suddenly, Anya reappeared, startling everyone. Dawn was the first to recover.

"Uh… hey, Anya…"

She looked around the assembled Scoobies. "Where's Xander?" Casting a suspicious glance at Buffy, she asked, "You didn't kill him, did you?"

Buffy laughed lightly. "No, Anya… Giles has taken him to hospital to get checked over."

She visibly relaxed. "Oh, good… I… I wanted to tell him I'd overreacted earlier. I was still in shock from seeing him stake Spike." Turning to face the accused, she added, "And since Spike is clearly not dead, I'll assume I was wrong to not give him a chance to explain."

"I'm sure he'll understand, Anya," said Willow. "Xander's been through a lot this past month, what with me being all dependent and needy. And he didn't know what he was doing, really…"

Anya nodded. "Well, at least both he and Spike are fine."

Another silence filled the room. Then, seemingly randomly, Spike remembered why he was even there in the first place. "Buffy, didn't you have a plan you were going to tell us?"

"Oh, yeah!" she said, also remembering. "But I think right now we all need rest, don't you? I'll tell you all tomorrow when we have Xander and Giles back here."

Everyone agreed. Dawn, ever the voice of logic, said: "Where's Spike gonna sleep?"

He and Buffy exchanged a glance; before she could dig herself into a hole, as he knew she'd end up doing, he rescued her. "My crypt, Bit." He started to head towards the front door. "Sure I can manage to-"

"Spike," interrupted Buffy. "You can barely stand. By the time you get to the cemetery it'll be sunrise at this rate." He knew she was right. Buffy thought things through. "Okay…Anya, can you stay with Will?" Anya nodded. Just in case Willow took it the wrong way, Buffy explained, "I know you're doing better, Willow; you're doing great… but I'm only thinking of you. Anya knows about magic; she'll be able to help if you have… problems."

Willow nodded. "I guess so…"

"The living room, I feel, is a write-off for now." Everyone agreed on that. "Which leaves-"

"He can sleep on my floor!" interrupted Dawn, enthusiastically.

"No, Dawn. You are _not_ having a sleepover with Spike…"

"But-"

"Big Sis is right, Nibblet… I don't want Giles trying to stake me an' all…"

Dawn conceded defeat, somewhat thwarted. "Well, where then? Your room?"

Buffy deliberately avoided Spike's gaze – thus missing the fact that he did exactly the same – and said, "Again, no. Same reason." There was only one other place he could go. "It'll have to be the basement, Spike… sorry."

He shrugged. "S'warmer than the crypt."

Dawn was going to protest, but then realised it was futile. "I'll go set up a cot and some blankets," she said, heading off to find them. The conversation dissipated into general banter on what time to wake up, when Xander might be back, and where Buffy had been all day – she was remarkably unforthcoming as to her location, but they let it drop.

Dawn made the basement as comfortable as possible for Spike, and kissed him on the cheek before heading upstairs. Willow thanked him for being supportive earlier, and Anya merely smiled sympathetically, not knowing what to say. Eventually, Buffy and Spike stood alone in the remains of the living room. Together, they wandered through to the kitchen. Buffy opened the fridge and helped herself to a large spoonful of mayonnaise; Spike grimaced.

"What?" she asked. "Long and difficult conversations with people give me the munchies…" She put the mayo back in the fridge and turned to him. Spike stood with his back to the open door of the basement while Buffy stood opposite him on the other side of the room. They didn't say anything. Buffy recalled the ease with which Dawn had hugged him when she knew he was okay. Why did she find it so difficult to do that herself? She was constantly thinking of possible repercussions, or whether or not it would be misconstrued. Staring at him from across the kitchen, she wanted nothing more than to pluck up the courage to go over and hurl her arms around him, just to let him know she was glad he was alive, too.

After a very long while, Spike finally cut through the silence. "Why did you kiss me?"

"Huh?"

"Before you went out to talk to Xander. You kissed me. Why?"

"Oh…" Trust him to bring that up. She was ever more certain he could read her mind. "Because… I was relieved he hadn't dusted you." Spike hadn't really thought of what she might say; it had just seemed like an apt question at the time. As such, he hadn't got a reply to her comment. "Very relieved, actually…"

"Really?"

She nodded. "Well… I've only just got you back from Africa, and-"

"Yes?" The glimmer of hope in his eyes was Buffy's undoing. She couldn't carry on that train of thought. She'd been about to admit that she'd missed him, that she couldn't stand the idea of losing him again… but now, she couldn't.

"And… I need your help. With getting the Magic back in the books."

"I see…" he said, deflated. "Right. Well. Best get some kip." When there was no reply from Buffy, he turned, hesitating at the top of the stairs. The conversation he'd had with Willow kept coming back to him – her advice to talk to Buffy, if she gave him the chance. It would be so easy to try now; all he needed to do was ask if she'd listen to him. But then, he figured, now really wasn't the best time to pour his heart out.

He started when her voice emanated from directly behind him. "Goodnight, Spike."

He turned back again to find her directly in front of him. She looked nervous. Just as he was about to say something, she surprised him a second time by moving forward and wrapping her arms around him. He responded immediately, returning the gesture and pulling her close to him with a relief that mirrored her own. He didn't know what had caused this sudden show of affection (or weakness, perhaps,) but he wasn't going to question it. Right now, it felt wonderful to have Buffy in his arms.

Buffy was beginning to see why Dawn did this so often. Heartbeat or no heartbeat, the man could hug. She almost didn't want to pull away, but sleep was threatening to overtake and that would cause all sorts of embarrassment later. Regretfully, she extricated herself from the embrace and left the kitchen without a word, and without looking back.

Spike watched her leave, curiously. Then, to the empty doorway, he said, "Goodnight, Buffy."

__

To be continued…

Aww =) Incidentally, I know from personal experience just how well Spike can hug ;) and being the same height as Buffy really had its advantages, too… *ahem* Anyway, as already mentioned, please help me reach my target of 100 reviews! I'm taking a breather before moving onto chapter 18, but expect the action (as such) to begin there… until then… you know what to do…


	18. Chapter Eighteen

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Disclaimer, etc as on first chapter.

A/N: First and foremost – SORRY FOR THE DELAY! This is what happens when we lose first drafts…

To all those who are curious after the last chapter: I have indeed met the fabulous James Marsters. SFX magazine's first convention was in June and he was their star guest along with Emma Caulfield and several "Farscape", "Star Trek", "Roswell", "Mutant X" and other scifi peeps. I didn't get to meet Emma, but I did get hugged by James. Twice. He's very cuddly. He's also a very nice bloke.

Anyway, on with the fic, now I'm done making you all horribly jealous ;) More Spuffy for y'all, and Xander comes back from the hospital. And thank you to everyone who helped me reach those 100 reviews. This is a first for me. Just keep them coming, and maybe I can reach 150 =)

Oh yes. I am what is known in the trade as a 'fluffbeast' *points to sign over head to prove it*. So prepare for fluff. Consider it a thank you for the 100 reviews :D

****

Chapter Eighteen

Due to the harrowing experience of the night before, everyone slept in late the next morning; Willow and Dawn, especially, had slept into the early afternoon. Giles had stayed with Xander at the hospital, and called that morning (to Dawn's irritation as he'd woken her up) to say that Xander had been checked over and would be allowed out later that afternoon. Knowing how slow hospital discharge tended to be, Buffy gave them until the evening. After Giles' call, she'd found it impossible to go back to sleep and had busied herself with attempting to clear up the debris of the lounge and surrounding rooms.

Most of it was a write-off, especially the stair-rail, which would probably need to be professionally mended. She figured Xander could probably fix the sofa and the broken coffee table. One of the chairs in the dining room had gotten overturned, but was still intact. The same was more or less true of the kitchen, although the varnish on the door had seen better days. Most of the carnage was, in fact, broken ornaments on the floor. Some of them, she noted, had been her mother's favourites; she managed to retrieve most of the larger pieces of the majority of them, but some were definitely beyond redemption. Somewhat sadly, she'd had to throw them away.

The photograph that Spike had so lovingly admired – but Buffy didn't know this – was about the only thing that was still intact, having managed to escape the battle by some miracle. Most of the other photos had ended up with their frames cracked or smashed, but at least they were easily replaceable.

Buffy finished sweeping up the smaller debris. She fought down a shudder at the memory of finding her best friend and her… whatever Spike was, seemingly frozen in time on the floor. She'd woken up hoping it was a dream, but the state of the living room proved horribly otherwise. With a sigh, she placed the salvaged ornaments on the mantelpiece with the photographs, and went to put the broom away. Dawn, typically, had left it out; it belonged in the basement.

Without thinking, she opened the door and headed down to put the broom away in its corner. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs when she remembered that Spike was still asleep down there, and tiptoed quietly past him as she put it away. Just as she was about to head back up to the kitchen, there was a soft, practically inaudible moan from the direction of the cot. Against her better judgement, and damning herself all the while, she walked over to see if Spike was all right.

For all intents and purposes, he appeared to be fine, and deeply asleep – although, with vampires, one could never tell. Buffy stood over him for a few seconds. He was silent. She was just beginning to think that perhaps she'd imagined it, when there was another moan, this time slightly louder. Sighing, Buffy pulled up a box of old school junk and sat down on it to watch over him, only for a while.

Spike had perfected a way of not letting the soul and his new conscience bother him during the day, by distracting himself. At night, however, the memories came as strongly as they had when he'd been granted the soul, and they manifested themselves as nightmares. By the somewhat anguished look on his face, they were obviously horrific – considering that they were hellishly recreated images of Spike's own previous deeds, however, this was no surprise – and he began to roll around on the cot. Several times he almost fell off.

Buffy didn't know what to do for the best. If she woke him, he'd probably be embarrassed that she'd seen him like it. If she didn't wake him up, then she'd have no choice but to sit there and make sure he didn't damage himself. Noticing that the blanket Dawn had procured for him had escaped to the floor, she conceded that 'tucking him in' was the best she could manage at this particular moment.

She covered him carefully so as not to accidentally aggravate his stab wound – she refused to refer to it as a stake wound – and then sat back again. He seemed to calm for a moment, sensing her presence while he dreamt. Then, the nightmare took hold again and his expression reflected it. The hollow, remorseful look on his face, the one she'd seen only briefly on his return, was mirrored even in sleep. It pained her to see him so helpless. Dreams were the one thing Buffy couldn't fight.

Lately, Spike was making her _feel _things, things that she'd managed to ignore before he came back. Right now, she had more important things to deal with - such as what could be another impending apocalypse situation - than how she felt about Spike. That could wait until after they'd stopped the Magic.

Absently, not completely aware of what she was doing, Buffy brushed a stray and slightly blood-stained strand of hair away from his forehead; in the back of her mind, she realised she probably should have offered him the use of the shower, even if he'd refused. She doubted he'd want to go anywhere near her bathroom for a while, but at least the offer would have been there. She continued to absently run a hand through his hair while she thought. Remembering, against her better judgement, what had happened, it barely seemed like the same Spike. His ordeal in Africa had changed him far beyond the gaining of a soul.

She came back to reality with a mental bang and pulled herself out of her thoughts, looking down to find him sleeping peacefully again. _'Let me rest in peace…' _she thought, with a smile. Their all-singing, all-dancing escapade had proven more than they'd realised. And maybe Spike had been right when he'd told her he needed her. Even when he didn't know she was there, she'd calmed him. Buffy couldn't help feeling slightly proud of that.

He opened his eyes, and she stopped her hand to save herself embarrassment, even though she got the distinct impression he'd been awake for a while. He looked up at her briefly, then closed his eyes again, and muttered, "Don't stop. 'Snice."

"No need," she said, removing the hand completely and returning it to her lap, "now the dreams have stopped."

Spike opened his eyes again and sat up, looking confused. "Dreams? What dreams?"

"You don't remember?" He shook his head. "Oh. Well, that's probably for the best…"

There was an empty pause. "Xander back yet?"

"No. Not 'til later, I think."

"How'd the talk go with him?"

"I don't know. He's genuinely sorry, though. Actually, I think he's shaken that he managed to… uh…" She couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Stake me?" supplied Spike.

Buffy nodded. At least he was more comfortable with his near-death experience than she was. "How are you feeling?"

When Spike recovered from the fact that she _still_ seemed to be concerned for his well-being (having put the first time down to the sheer shock of finding him like she did), he said, "Um… still smarts a bit. It'll heal."

"Oh, that's it," she said, remembering something that had been bugging her. "I meant to ask – why didn't the chip kick in? And no cracks about Xander not being human…"

"I think…" pondered Spike, "it was because Xander _wanted_ me to fight him. He just stood there and asked me to fight back, willingly, and it was enough to confuse the chip. The only other thing I can figure is that the technology's gettin' glitches after all this time."

That made sense to Buffy. After a while, all technology, no matter how advanced it was, ended up with problems. Either that or the chip had always had that particular design fault and nobody had thought to find out. Of course, there was always the possibility that one day the chip would merely fail to work, having served its time – presumably, the Initiative were intending to starve to death any vampire they installed it in, and it had been an accident that Spike had discovered he could harm anything non-human. Buffy wondered briefly what might happen if Spike could kill again.

Spike broke through the silence. "How's Red?"

"What?" asked Buffy, starting.

"I said, how's Willow?"

"Oh… I don't know, she's not up yet. But I'm sure she's fine. Thanks for… you know… being there for her. Last night."

"It was the least I could do," he said. "After she patched me up."

"Yeah…" The air between them was getting decidedly awkward, and Buffy knew why. It was her fault. She'd hugged him last night, which, in Spike's current emotional state, hadn't been a good idea. She'd also kissed him. That _definitely_ hadn't been a good idea. She'd done what she promised herself she wouldn't do when he came back – given him hope. Even though they'd more or less reconciled, and she was more than willing to offer her friendship – especially right now, when they all needed him – she got the distinct impression that Spike wanted more. He still wanted the love she couldn't bring herself to give.

They'd both been staring at anything but each other for some time. The words Buffy had overheard the night before – Spike's heartfelt confession to Willow about how he felt – were ringing through her ears. _'She's my whole life… I'd let her be my death… she makes me feel like what I was…' _Suddenly, it all made sense.

The entire time she'd been with Spike, it had all felt horribly familiar, for a reason she couldn't figure out. But, sitting as she was with him in front of her, a memory struck from two years ago. When Willow's ill-cast 'I-will-it-so' spell had gone awry, she'd loved him. She'd even agreed to spend the rest of her life with him, and it had seemed right… better than right, in fact.

She was constantly telling herself and her friends – and Spike – that she didn't love him. What scared her was that she remembered what it felt like to love him, and she could sense that same feeling sweeping over her the longer he was around. Moreover, she remembered what it was like to have Spike love her, and, even under the influence of the spell, it was exactly the same. Everything was the same – they argued over pathetic, petty things, Buffy's friends didn't approve, and with a single kiss, she could forget why she was supposed to hate him.

Buffy was, essentially, scared. The part of her brain that kept telling her being with Spike was wrong no longer functioned. Being with Angel had overridden it because he'd had a soul. Now, Spike had a soul. He was 'good', too. For all intents and purposes, she had no reason to hate him any more, and that terrified her. She also knew that anyone who ever loved her – and anyone she'd ever loved back – had a tendency to leave. Her father. Her mom. Angel. Giles; admittedly, he'd come back, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he left again. Spike, so far, had been the only one who, despite leaving, had come back… but that didn't guarantee he wouldn't leave again. She had no way of knowing for sure if, by giving Spike her heart, he would mangle it like everyone else did.

What she'd told Giles was true – she wanted to love Spike. It was no longer a matter of not being able to; she was too scared to allow herself the luxury. Those 'three little words' were all he needed to hear… but to Buffy, they were like an automatic cue for him to walk away from her.

Her thoughts turned to the situation in hand. They all needed his help (and, more to the point, his deSoto to use in order to get everyone across town) in Buffy's upcoming plan. She needed him to protect Dawn, as always. And Spike would agree, unquestioningly. And, being Spike, he'd inevitably end up getting himself hurt; in his currently weakened state, he could even get himself killed if he wasn't careful.

They'd both been staring at the floor for some time, so they wouldn't have to look at each other. Buffy suddenly got the urge to look up, hoping to examine his eyes. Undoubtedly, she could always see the love there (and dreaded it, more often than not), but she was searching for some flicker of doubt, anything that might indicate it was at all possible he could stop loving her. If she found that, if there was hope of him losing interest, then she wouldn't have to worry about the fact that, despite all of her better judgement, she was starting to fall in love with him…

Just as she thought this, she tried to divert her attention elsewhere. Unfortunately, the only thing in her direct line of vision was Spike, who was still staring at the ground. Absently, she noticed the cut on his forehead, already healing, and it set off a chain reaction of thoughts. He'd got the cut in the fight with Xander. The fight with Xander had resulted in him being staked. It had started because Xander was still mad at Spike. It wouldn't have started at all, had Buffy not told Spike to meet her at the house… and, if he _did _get himself hurt or killed when they fought the Magic, that would be Buffy's fault, too.

Unconsciously, she began to reach out to the cut, not entirely certain why. Her fingers grazed it only slightly, causing Spike to jerk his head up in surprise at the brief contact. She recoiled immediately. Completely by accident, their gazes met, and she searched for that elusive flicker of doubt she was counting on to be her saviour. All she saw was her own reflection, the pain neither of them could fight, and love so deep she was drowning in it.

Buffy dropped her head, and suddenly, tears were trailing down her cheeks against her will. Spike, surprised by the sob she failed to conceal, looked briefly confused.

"Buffy?" he asked, softly, trying to get her attention. She didn't answer, only shook her head as if to block him out. He tried again. "Buffy? Look at me…" When he still couldn't illicit a response, he physically lifted her chin with one hand to force her look in his direction. "What is it, pet? What's wrong?"

She blinked at him, then averted her gaze to her hands. "Don't wanna lose you again…" she mumbled.

"You're not going to," he reassured her. "I'm not going anywhere."

His words apparently didn't register. "They all leave."

"Who all leave?"

"Everyone," she said. "Everyone… they say they love me, then they're gone."

He understood, realising with some sadness that she was right. "Well… I'm not everyone…" Releasing her chin, he grasped both of her hands in his. Her flow of tears seemed to have subsided, at least for the moment, but her thoughts were still tumultuous as she looked at him again.

"God," she said, looking him over with some curiosity, "I'm going to get you killed…"

"What?"

She scoffed at his stupidity. "You nearly _died _last night, Spike… because of me. And you could get hurt – badly – because I've asked you to help." She wrenched free of his grasp. "Get out of here. For your own good…"

He almost laughed, had he not realised how serious she was. "Buffy-"

"I'm serious. I know, I said I needed your help, but… forget I mentioned it. I don't need you for this."

"But-"

"You said to me yourself, that thing skinned a vamp, for no apparent reason. I don't want to risk it. Just… go to your crypt and stay there."

"No. You're not getting rid of me that easily. I'm going to help. Whatever it takes."

Buffy sighed; she knew she was never going to convince him to leave. "I can't keep doing this – putting everyone at risk. That's why a Slayer is meant to work alone. I'm going to get you _all_ killed…"

Spike placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Maybe you will, one day. But it's either us or you. Buffy, if you hadn't had your friends around, you might not even be sittin' here today."

"Oh, yeah, and they all do it because they love me so much, right?" she asked, somewhat mockingly.

"No," he said, smiling, "they do it because they're bloody idiots with death wishes." That raised a small smile. "_I _do it because I love you." He cautiously moved the hand from her shoulder to her cheek. "Enough to risk everything…"

Tears stung her eyes again, as more memories of Willow's spell came unbidden to her brain, with the familiar feeling of Spike being the be-all and end-all of her universe. Quietly, staring at him the whole time, still searching for even the smallest amount of doubt in his eyes, she said, "Say you love me again…"

Failing completely to conceal the hope in his expression, he wiped the single tear from her cheek with a thumb. "I love you…"

She stared at him numbly for several seconds. Then, before she knew what was happening, or what she was doing, she found herself leaning closer. Her lips brushed against his and she tasted her own tears (or were they Spike's, too?) and blood from his split lip. The brief contact was all it took. He knew it was a bad idea, but he instantly responded in kind, pulling her closer, off the box she was sitting on, and practically into his lap. The kiss was of relief, from too long apart, and Buffy continued to silently cry, tears coursing down her cheeks as it deepened.

"Buffy? Are you up? Anyone?"

They broke apart at the sound of Giles' voice calling from the front door, and Buffy leapt to her feet, looking at the door to the kitchen in a state of panic. She wiped her eyes hastily and scrabbled away from Spike, staring at him in brief horror before fleeing to the relative safety of the main part of the house.

Spike watched the open door, and listened to the distant voices in the lounge, in mild shock. Then, after a pause, he let out a quiet curse, punched the cot in frustration, and violently kicked the box into a corner.

Buffy straightened her clothes self-consciously as she entered the living room to greet Giles. Xander was with him, his left arm in a sling, but otherwise unscathed except for the bruises she'd seen the previous night.

"Ah, there you are," said Giles. "Where is everyone?"

"Still in bed, I should think. It was a pretty rough night." She headed to the bottom of the stairs and called up. "Dawn! Will! Anya! Scooby meeting in the dining room in ten minutes!" Neither Giles nor Xander questioned why she didn't call for Spike, too, but they figured he could probably hear from the basement.

The three of them moved to the dining room to wait for the others. Buffy hovered by the door while the other two sat down. Eventually, the other three occupants of the house meandered downstairs to join them. Dawn, momentarily disappointed that Spike hadn't appeared yet, cast a disdainful glance at Xander and sat as far away from him as possible. Willow smiled supportively, understanding that he hadn't been entirely aware of his actions at the time, and looked sympathetic when she saw the sling. She sat next to him. Anya gave a nervous smile and sat opposite Giles.

Spike, as yet, still hadn't emerged from the basement, and Buffy was starting to worry about him. She didn't know what had possessed her to kiss him, but whatever level their friendship was at, she'd probably just ruined it. She decided it would be best to go and check on him.

"I'll be right with you, guys. Let me just go get Spike." There was a murmur of acknowledgement as she left the room, heading back towards the basement. She didn't go down there, just stood at the top of the steps and called down. "Spike?" He didn't reply, but she heard shuffling in the semi-dark. She sighed impatiently. "Come on, everyone's waiting for you." There was a crash, one that sounded distinctly annoyed, and then he emerged. He pushed past her without a word and headed towards the dining room.

She caught up with him at the threshold to the kitchen and grabbed his arm to stop him. He whirled around to face her, his expression hurt and angry. "Unless it's a matter of life or death, Slayer, I don't want to hear it." With that, he wrenched his arm free of her grasp.

"I'm sorry…" she managed to say as he walked off, stopping him in his tracks momentarily.

Without turning, he said, "I know. But you're only sorry for your own weakness. Next time you want some cold comfort, try somewhere else." He turned slightly, adding, "I'm done. I'll help you, but that's it. You can either admit that you love me, or leave me alone."

He walked off without another word, leaving a shocked Buffy in his wake…

__

To be continued…

Okay… so the plan will be next chapter… I wanted something resembling a cliffhanger for the ending… But hey, at least you had some fluff! Review please; I've got a craving…


	19. Chapter Nineteen

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

A/N: Finally! The plan! And, typically, just as I'm nearing the end, I've come up with another idea to make the damn thing even longer… but it will be fluffy, so I suppose that makes up for it. Anyway, as for this chapter, I figured it was about time Buffy and Spike had an argument to clear the air, so, even though it doesn't necessarily advance the plot very much, I've included it here. Mainly because the kiss from Chapter 18 wasn't meant to be there at all, and has now completely messed up the thing I had planned by throwing in conflict that wasn't supposed to happen. But hey, it's all par for the course…

This is probably a lesson in how you should never annoy a tetchy vamp…

Enjoy…

****

Chapter Nineteen

When Buffy finally got over the shock of Spike's ultimatum, she returned to the dining room. Everyone was chatting quietly amongst themselves, and Spike was slouching against the far wall, avoiding her gaze, his annoyed, hurt expression still obvious. She sighed, and took a seat at the head of the table, clearing her throat to get everyone's attention.

When everyone quietened down, she wasn't entirely sure how to start. She stared at the expectant faces around her. Finally, having had enough, and wanting to get it over with as soon as possible, Spike was the first to speak. "All right, Slayer. What's this plan, then?"

Nobody else seemed to notice his irritated tone, save possibly Willow, who cast him a briefly curious glance before focussing back on Buffy. The Slayer sighed. "Okay. I guess you're all wondering where I was yesterday." There were several nods. "Well – and don't tell me what a stupid idea it was – I went to see how far out of town that Magic was." Giles started to protest, as she knew he would. "It's okay, Giles, I didn't even get close to it… it was so powerful I could feel it from a mile away. Anyway, it's far enough away that Sunnydale isn't in any immediate danger… but it's moving closer; we have to work fast. Tomorrow, if possible. Tonight at best."

"No can do tonight, Buff," said Xander, genuinely apologetic, indicating his injured arm.

"Xander's right," clarififed Giles. "He has to keep his arm more or less immobile for another twenty-four hours. The damage isn't too serious, but… as a precaution."

Buffy nodded. "That's fine. Tomorrow it is, then. Everyone else okay with that?" There were more nods. "Right. Here's the plan. First of all, Willow, you need to purge that residual Magic inside you. Like you said, it'll be easier and much more logical to purge it into the larger whole."

Willow looked thoughtful. "You're right-"

"That's dangerous, Buffy," interrupted Spike. "You really think she's strong enough? What if it tries to take her over again?"

"I've thought of that, Spike," she replied, annoyed that he'd think she wouldn't. "In his current state, Xander can't really do much, and I wouldn't want to risk damaging him further." She turned to address the accused. "The best you can do is help Willow. Keep hold of her and keep her alert. Can you do that?"

He looked at Willow. "You can count on it."

Willow spoke up again. "I think I can do it, Buffy. I feel… strong enough to purge it safely."

"Good," she said, with a reassuring nod. "Right. Anya and Giles, you two are in charge of the books. Anya, you know what was in them before, right?"

"Yes."

"And you know which they were?" The demon nodded. "All right… I need you to go to the Magic Box and collect them all, and bring them back here."

"Will do. Anything else?"

Buffy thought. "Um… when the time comes, let us know when it's all back in there." Anya nodded again, already making a mental inventory of the books she'd need to collect.

"What about me?" asked Giles.

"You can help Anya. I don't want anyone working alone. Also, it's still got the magic from that coven you visited inside it, and you're the expert on that."

Giles nodded, sharing a look with Willow, then said, "As far as I know, it's harmless."

"Yeah," added the redhead, who'd had more or less personal experience with it during her rampage. "It doesn't have the same evil intent, so it doesn't really matter much where it goes, if it goes anywhere… It might just, y'know, dissolve…"

Giles continued, "They mentioned something about it having a sort of homing device, as it were… Presumably, once it's free of the grasp of the Dark Magic, it'll find its way back to the coven and they can deal with it. It was only meant to be inside me for long enough to… um…" He stopped momentarily to think of the right phrasing. "To… help Willow, so…"

Buffy gave a single, brief nod of affirmation. "Noted." She turned to her sister. The younger brunette was sulking, thinking she was going to be left out again as she hadn't, so far, been called upon for use in the Big Plan. "Dawn…"

She looked up, beaming. "I can help?"

"Yes."

"How?" she asked, eagerly.

Buffy smiled at her enthusiasm. "Well… Okay… when Will purges the Magic from her system, I have no idea what could happen. The bigger Magic might try to take her over. I need you to help Xander keep her on the ground, especially since he's the One Armed Bandit right now…" Xander smiled; he really couldn't have gotten injured at a worse time.

Dawn grinned. "Sure thing, Buffy. I won't fail you, you 'll see."

The Slayer smiled supportively at her to show she trusted her. She made a mental note – not that she would ever admit this to Dawn, of course – that if she proved herself in this plan, she might – just might – consider taking her on patrol a few times. After all, she could really do with a few nights off sometimes…

Spike, who had kept quiet through the meeting, broke through her thoughts. "So," he said, "that just leaves-"

"You and me," interrupted Buffy. "Well, first of all, you're the only one with a car big enough to get everyone across town."

Before she could explain her 'second of all', he said, "Oh. That's great, that is. I get to play bloody chauffeur for the Scooby gang while they save the world again." Aside from the anger he was still feeling after what had happened in the basement, she could tell he was hurting, too. She was, from his point of view, still using him, only in a different way, and by the sound of things, he'd had enough. He'd obviously been expecting a larger role in the scheme of things; clearly, her confession about not wanting to lose him had fallen on deaf ears.

"Spike," she said, exasperated. "Just… just shut up and listen for a change." He did as ordered, holding her in a contemptuous gaze. "There's something we both have to do; in fact, I think I probably need you most of all in this." Addressing the whole group again, she explained, "We're fighting _magic_ here, guys. Very, very powerful Magic, which has been growing stronger the longer it's been out there. Trapped things that get freedom rarely want to be recaptured, so it's going to be defending itself in any way it can. I could be wrong, but I'm guessing the easiest and most efficient way to do that is to manifest some kind of demon army." Turning back to Spike, she said, "What do you say, Spike? Think you and I can kick some demon butt?"

He looked at her a long time, realising he'd been wrong about her. She obviously had a higher opinion of him than he originally thought. He was still annoyed, however, and his ultimatum still held; the temptation was to let Buffy and her friends deal with this on their own – he hadn't even been around when the Magic got out, and he wasn't obligated in any way to helping them. He never had been… But there was no way in the Hellmouth he was going to let Buffy go out there fighting alone. He sighed at his complete inability to refuse her anything, then said, "Well… I'm still a bit sore from those trials, and from… last night's little escapade, but… yeah. I think we can manage that."

His use of the word 'we', and not 'I', did not go unnoticed. She let out a sigh of relief at having him on the team. "Good. So. That's the plan. Everyone clear?" She was answered by several nods. "Then let's start getting ready. Anya, we need the books; Giles, see if there's some kind of… chant, or something, some way to reverse the removal process; Willow, Xander, you two get rest; Dawn, uh…" She examined her sister's hopeful expression, then shrugged. "Do your homework… I highly doubt the apocalypse excuse works twice…"

Dawn pouted, and walked off; everyone else filed out to their respective destinations. Anya headed off dutifully towards the Magic Box, which was starting to look much more appreciable lately since the rebuilding had started, muttering the titles of the books to herself in an aid to her memory. Giles went up to Willow's room to collect the books that were still up there, before setting up his own little library in the battered lounge, leaving Willow and Xander to get much needed rest. Everyone had sensed the uneasiness between Buffy and Spike, and had opted to get out of their way before the argument, that was obviously going to happen, started.

Left alone in the dining room, they stared at each other from opposite ends. Buffy could tell by the seriousness of his tone earlier – and the unshifting contempt he was currently holding her in – that she'd finally pushed him too far. She knew, this time, that even her most sincere apology wasn't going to cut it.

Eventually, Spike got bored of their staring match, and made his way towards the front door, brushing past her as he grabbed his duster from the mangled stair rail. She called after him. "Spike, wait…"

"For what?" he asked, spinning to face her. "So I can play some more of your mind games, Slayer? I don't think so, somehow."

She flinched. "No, I…" She trailed off. Luckily, Spike gave her a chance to carry on. "I mean… there is something else you can do in all this."

"Yeah," he said, sighing. "Protect the Bit. I got it." He made to leave again, so she grabbed his arm, lightly.

"No… well, okay, yeah, but… just… be careful…"

In his frustration, Spike had all but forgotten what she'd said earlier. _'I'm going to get you killed…'_ So _that's_ what she was talking about. She thought he'd end up getting hurt. Ordinarily, he would have been touched by her concern. Unfortunately, he was still angry. "What do you care, anyway?"

With that, he pulled on his coat and left, slamming the door after him. Giles was returning with a second batch of books from upstairs as he did so, and he stopped at the bottom, looking confused. "Buffy? What's going on now?" His Slayer didn't answer; instead, she grabbed her own coat and fled after Spike, slamming the door equally hard. Giles appealed to heaven and muttered to himself about nobody ever telling him anything, then deposited the books on the floor of the lounge.

Spike was halfway down the street by the time Buffy caught up with him, but, even though he could hear her coming, he pointedly ignored her and carried on. She gave up following him and stopped in her tracks, calling after him. "What do you mean, 'what do I care'?"

Spike stopped and paused, cursed himself for being ultimately weak around her, then turned and walked back. A fight was imminent, although he suspected this one would involve words rather than fists. "I mean," he said as he approached, "why should it matter to you if I get hurt tomorrow night? It's never bothered you before."

She frowned. "God, didn't anything I said in the basement sink into that thick skull of yours?" Her expression changed to one of concern, and she reached over to take his hand. "I don't want to lose you again, Spike. I'm sick of losing people I care about…"

His resolve almost melted. Almost. Then the anger took over again and he yanked his hand out of hers. "Oh, sound the bloody trumpets!" he said, sarcastically. "The Slayer's concerned about someone other than herself!"

"That is _not _fair, Spike!"

"_Life_ isn't fair, Buffy; that's how it works." He turned again, preparing to walk off.

"Don't you _dare_ walk away from me…" He caught something warning in her tone that stopped him from moving, but his back remained towards her, so she wouldn't be able to see his face. "You think I don't care, right?"

"Well-" he mumbled, before she cut him off.

"You think I don't care that… that Willow was slowly killing herself only a week ago? You think I don't care that Tara died from a bullet that was meant for me? That Dawn was turning into a goddamn kleptomaniac under my nose, and I was too wrapped up in my own life to notice? You think I don't care that Xander broke Anya's heart… that she broke his – with _you_…" Spike's head dropped. He'd been wondering when she'd bring that back up. "Or that Giles loved me too much to stay? That he had to come back to Hell because I couldn't deal?" She took a step closer to Spike and spoke again from directly behind him, quieter. "You honestly think I don't care that Xander nearly killed you last night…"

This last point, he noticed, wasn't a question. She was so sincere it nearly killed him. When he'd regained enough composure to face her, he spun around, startling her into taking a step back again. It would be so easy – maybe too easy – to forgive her again and let the argument lie… but he chose not to. In the long run, they probably both needed this.

Buffy waited for his response, and was surprised when it came. "You're only bothered that you weren't the one on the other end of the stake…"

She threw her arms in the air, frustrated. "If that were true, don't you think I would have staked you the second you were back?!"

"Why," he retaliated, "when you can torment me a little longer? Play a few more rounds of Kick-the-Spike and make fun of the useless, lovesick vampire now he's gone and got himself a soul! That ought to make it even more fun, right? Got a chip _and_ a bloody conscience, now…"

"Okay," she said, calming herself down and trying to be sensible. "I admit it. I was a bitch. I know I hurt you. I also apologised, and I meant it, which you seem to have conveniently forgotten. If you have even an ounce of the humanity you claim, that should mean something."

Spike swallowed all of the retorts he could have made, and instead opted on saying: "Of course it meant something…"

"Well, then," said Buffy, still not entirely comprehending, "what's your problem, exactly?"

His briefly amicable attitude immediately switched back to being annoyed with her. "What's _my_ problem? I should be asking _you_ that."

"My prob-" she began, before being cut off by a sudden loud roll of thunder. Although they hadn't noticed, it had been steadily raining for the past few seconds, getting heavier as their argument continued. It had the potential to pour at any moment. The thunderclap startled her, causing her to jump and look to the sky in brief, automatic terror. Spike fought the sudden protective urge that nearly made him wrap his arms around her, and let her continue what she'd been about to say. Buffy tried again. "My problem is you, Spike."

"Tell me something I don't already know, Slayer."

A sigh. "Okay, I'll rephrase that. My problem is… it's me."

The vampire took a step closer. "I can't believe I'm getting the 'it's not you, it's me' line," he muttered, although his heart wasn't in it any more. It had reached the stage where petty insults and shouting weren't going to get them very far, and, while the weather certainly wasn't clement enough to be having a serious conversation, it seemed to be the only option. Quietly, he asked, "How is it you?"

"Well, it's not _just _me… It's… us, really…"

"Don't know if you've noticed," he pointed out, "but there's a distinctive lack of 'us' right now. By your choice, if I remember correctly."

"I know, but… maybe that's what I mean…" She wasn't really sure what she was talking about, having not thought about it. Her emotions were still fraught from the basement, and the situation the night before, and nothing made sense in her head, let alone out loud. As anticipated, and as another clap of thunder rolled overhead, the rain started getting heavier, soaking them both within seconds. Neither seemed particularly bothered.

Spike, sensing Buffy's inner struggle to figure out what she was trying to say, merely stood patiently and watched her. "Take your time, pet…" he said.

"Okay…" she began, attempting to make sense of everything. "When you left, I knew I should have been glad of that. My Slayer senses kept telling me to be happy. You were out of my life, finally… but I wasn't happy. I…" She took a deep breath, meeting his eyes. "I missed you…" Clarifying, she repeated, "I missed you, and I knew it was wrong… but I was ready to move on. And then you came back, and you messed everything up all over again…" Before he could apologise – and she could tell he wanted to, because he seemed to be doing nothing else lately – she started again. "I know what you want. I know you want me to love you… but I can't, Spike. I've tried… I can't…"

"Can't or won't?" he asked, with only a small hint of bitterness.

"_Can't_," she clarified. "It's not a matter of not wanting to, either. I do want to… but… I'll lose you. I know it."

"Buffy…" She looked up expectantly. "I told you before. I'm not leaving you. I'm not like everyone else." He sighed; this next part was difficult. "But I can't carry on like this, with you leading me on all the time. I came back for you; I came back because I couldn't stand being away from you, but… this is killin' me, Slayer… I'm afraid to bloody touch you, after that night…"

She nodded, understanding, and moved slightly closer. "Spike, I am so, so sorry for what happened earlier. I was upset, and you were…" She gave up. "I don't regret it, either. Giles just surprised me."

"We'll just forget it," he suggested. "It'll make life easier for the both of us." Off her confused expression, he explained, adamantly, "What I told you before still stands. You love me. I know you do. But until you admit that to yourself – and to me – I can't be around you. We're both going to get hurt if I stick around. I'm not going to let you fight alone, but after that… I'm gone. I don't see you, you don't see me, neither of us makes any more mistakes."

"But-" she began to protest.

"No 'but's, Buffy. This isn't your game any more." He started to walk off again, away from her.

"Where are you going?" she called after him.

He turned back. "The car needs fillin' up. Unless you want to help me push it tomorrow night."

Spike managed a few more steps before Buffy's voice stopped him a second time. "If it makes any difference at all… I _do_ care, Spike. Really."

And then, he wanted nothing more than to forget the entire argument, run back, and sweep her off out of the torrential rain in some idiotic romantic gesture… but he didn't. It wasn't what he wanted to hear. Carrying on, he said by way of farewell: "I'll see you tomorrow. Get inside before your hair's ruined…"

Buffy watched his retreating back as it disappeared into the night, like some ironic reversal of a knight in shining armour, with his duster shiny and slick from the rain… oh. Rain. It was raining. She was soaked. And Spike was gone, disappeared from her line of vision. Slowly, she turned and headed back the few feet to her house, thinking over their conversation, but not entirely comprehending what had just happened. She opened the front door, stepped inside, and closed it after her, then stood with her back against it. She stared dead ahead, deep in thought, ignoring Giles' curious expression that requested an explanation.

"Buffy?" he asked. "Would you mind explaining-"

His sentence stopped short when he realised she wasn't paying attention to him. He watched as she slid down the door until she was sitting. Giles didn't move at first, since she appeared not to have even noticed him at all. Then, as he continued to watch her, he realised that not only was she soaking wet, but there were tears coursing down her face along with the rain water.

Immediately, he sprang to action, grabbing the blanket he'd been using from the back of the couch and approaching her. He bent to her level, and very carefully wrapped it around her. This was enough, at least, to bring her attention to him. She made no effort to get up. "Giles…"

"What happened?"

"He left…" she said, pointlessly. The rest of her explanation came in short, nonsensical (at least, to Giles) bursts. "He said that… and then he… he left… Oh, God…" She fought down a sob, beginning to shiver. "I thought I couldn't… thought I'd lose him… but… I can't not…" Now trembling violently, she lost the battle against her emotions and broke down. "I love him…"

Giles was surprised by his own reaction. He wasn't shocked, and he wasn't angry. Instead, he was almost relieved she'd finally realised one way or the other. It didn't seem to be a particularly happy revelation, however. Noting that the blanket had shifted, he wrapped it further around her shoulders. Buffy, misinterpreting the gesture, moved slightly forwards until he had no choice but to keep his arms around her. He rocked her slightly until she'd calmed down. "Have you told him?"

She shook her head, frantically. "No… I have to go after him…"

He kept a firm hold of her, helping her to her feet and directing her deliberately away from the front door. "You can tell him another time, Buffy. Right now, you need to dry off and warm up, and get some rest."

She nodded, pulling the blanket further around herself. "I'm sorry… I don't know how this must feel for you… You must be so disappointed in me."

Her Watcher smiled supportively. "Much as I know I should be, I'm not. I'm just… glad that you finally worked out your feelings."

"It _is_ a relief," she admitted, smiling involuntarily. Then, she caught herself. "But I know it's wrong… so why does it feel right, Giles?"

He shook his head somewhat helplessly. "I don't have all the answers, Buffy. But you know Spike loves you; he's proven that much countless times… and you told me yourself that you felt as though you wanted to love him."

She nodded. "I did… I _do…_ God, I have to tell him. Soon…"

"Soon," said Giles, "but not now."

Buffy almost laughed at his words echoing Spike's the day she'd told him it was over, except she didn't feel much like laughing. She made a conscious decision to change the subject. "Did you, uh, find anything?" she asked, indicating the pile of books.

"Yes. There is… a-a sort of incantation, but I'd rather only use it as a last resort."

"Hopefully, it won't reach that stage," she said. "I'd better get rested up."

"Yes…"

There was a briefly awkward silence, and then Buffy turned and headed upstairs. Giles listened to her footsteps until he heard the door close, then he shook his head and returned to the couch and his books, just in case he'd missed anything.

Buffy, upstairs, dried off and got changed, and collapsed onto her bed, emotionally exhausted. Fighting with Spike was a harrowing experience at the best of times; when it was followed by sudden realisations of feelings, it was made all the worse. This realisation couldn't have come at a worse time, either. In the middle of another save-the-world situation, she also now had to deal with her relationship – or the current lack and possibility thereof – with Spike, and how to sort it all out before he gave up on her completely. And to think that only a day ago, she'd been hoping for that same thing to happen.

She re-ran their conversation in her mind as she tried to sleep, but weariness soon took over and she fell into a somewhat erratic slumber, to the sound of the rain buffeting the windows…

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To be continued…

Right. Next, hopefully, will be the part I've been dying to write since about chapter 5... So I hope it's as good on paper/screen as it is in my head… Keep those reviews coming, folks.


	20. Chapter Twenty

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

A/N: Wow, chapter 20. I never anticipated this thing would end up so huge. It was only meant to be a short fic. Ah, well…

As I said at the end of the last chapter, there's something in this one that I've been dying to write since about chapter 5 when I first started thinking about what to do with the plot. Instead of writing it there and then, I put it off and got all the preceding chapter finished so I'd have something to look forward to. Here's hoping my patience (and yours) paid off. Even if my reasoning is skewed, it works, so live with it ;) And be warned. The ending is angsty. It's also fluffy. But I always say the best kind of fluff is the angsty kind…

I'd like to take this moment to gush and thank everyone for their positive feedback and the many reviews. I've never had such a response before and it's a little humbling. But this sounds like a cheesy acceptance speech, and I should save it for the final chapter, whenever that'll be… Until then, keep those reviews coming!

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Cradle

Chapter Twenty

The next morning, everyone was rudely awakened by Anya's arrival, her arms full of empty books. Or rather, to be precise, they were rudely awakened by her dropping them all unceremoniously on the floor as soon as she got inside the house. After going to the Magic Box, she'd taken them all back to her apartment, since it was closer, and then struggled all the way back to Revello Drive with them. After half an hour, they'd started to get heavy. Five minutes after that, she could no longer feel her fingers, and so it was with some relief that she deposited the entire lot on the floor of the Summers residence.

Declaring sleep a complete write-off, Giles had gotten up and helped her move them all into the dining room, then set about sorting them into some kind of order. It probably didn't matter, but it did, at least, give him something to think about other than Buffy's confession. He'd told her he wasn't disappointed in her, which was true, but it didn't stop him worrying immensely that she'd made the wrong decision. Spike may have proven himself more than once, but he was still a vampire, soul or no soul, and he could still hurt her in more ways than one.

Upstairs, Buffy groaned and rolled over, attempting to muster enough energy to get up. It was only the clattering sound of her sister moving downstairs that forced her to stumble out of bed. She opened the window in an attempt to get some fresh air circulating. After the rain, the air was humid, and smelt of newly soaked grass.

Fifteen minutes later, the Slayer finally struggled downstairs and headed straight in the direction of coffee, as everyone else eventually joined her. Xander was one of the first to come down, his arm still in the sling despite the fact he was using it. When she questioned him, he calmly informed her that it hadn't been twenty-four hours yet. Giles and Anya appeared briefly to greet everyone before heading back to the dining room; the former said nothing about the previous night, to Buffy's relief.

Willow was the last to emerge. She came into the kitchen slowly, deliberately, as if watching her every move, and kept her gaze fixed firmly on the floor, watching her feet. Considering her latest spurt towards recovery, this surprised them; she resembled how she'd been a few weeks back during her worst low. Buffy and Xander watched her for several seconds until she'd sat down.

"Will?" asked Buffy. "You okay?"

The Wiccan nodded, her red hair bouncing in front of her drooped head. "'M fine…" she muttered.

"You sure?" That was Xander. "Cos not really likin' the whole relapse thing."

"Seriously, guys… fine…" She still hadn't lifted her head.

"Willow, look at me," said Buffy, pointedly. When her friend didn't comply, she physically lifted her chin with one hand from across the island. Reluctantly, Willow met her gaze, and Buffy instantly dropped her chin and drew back when she saw her eyes. They were almost completely clouded over with blackness, like they'd been when she was under the influence of the Dark Magic, only with flickers of Willow's true eye colour occasionally seeping through. For all other outward appearances, though, she seemed perfectly fine. Smiling amicably, she tried to reassure her friends that she was perfectly all right.

"See? Fine…"

"Fine?" Buffy was incredulous. "You call that fine?"

"Settle down, Buffster…" said Xander, starting to understand. He'd been around Willow long enough to know more or less what was going on. "Willow, just explain…"

"Oh. Right." She'd apparently assumed they'd know what was happening. Her explanation was clipped and precise, under control. "Magic's gotta be purged. Had to bring it to the surface. Got it in hand."

Buffy nodded in relief, still slightly worried, but not mentioning it for the time being. Willow seemed to be completely in control of the Magic, for once, the only evidence it was there at all being her eyes and her short sentences, a result of her mind's priority to stay alert. She kept telling herself that, if all went as planned, Willow would be rid of it by this time tomorrow.

The day wore on slowly and uneventfully, save for a recap on the plan. Buffy found herself constantly waiting for Spike to appear, despite the daylight, and simultaneously on edge in case he did. Her latest priority, on a personal level, at least, was to tell him how she felt, especially after their conversation the night before… but at the same time, she was utterly terrified. She didn't know how to tell him without it sounding patronising, as though she was only doing it to humour him. Since his return, and her own horrible mistakes in his presence, he'd reached a stage where he didn't trust anything she said to him. All he wanted was a simple 'I love you'… but she just didn't know if it would sound convincing.

The day seemed to drag on as sunset approached, and her thoughts had continued in much the same manner all day. She spent a good few hours of it training in the basement, where the cot was still set up from the night before (albeit shoved at the far wall, presumably by Spike, and lying at an odd angle), venting all her frustration and fraught emotions into a punching bag. By five o' clock, however, she'd resorted to pacing irritably around the lounge, to the mild amusement of her friends.

Eventually, a little while before sunset, she heard the unmistakable sound of a large car approaching. She ran to the window, possibly a little too excitedly, and saw what she'd been desperate to see all day – Spike's blacked out de Soto puttering to a halt outside the house. She muttered a brief "That'll be Spike…" and opened the door, standing on the threshold waiting for him.

The door of the de Soto opened to reveal the darkened interior, and then a pair of legs emerged, followed by a blanket-concealed body. Spike slammed the door and ran towards the house, head covered. As such, he didn't notice her until he was about to knock and practically on top of her. He stopped, only vaguely aware of the heat now spreading through his blanket, and there was a sudden awkwardness. Then they both remembered the sunlight and she stood aside; he ran in, smoking slightly.

Buffy closed the door after him and stayed where she was, leaning against it. Spike dropped the blanket in a heap on the floor and attempted to look nonchalant. "Evening, all." Everyone nodded in greeting and returned to what they were doing. He turned to Buffy to see her looking at him thoughtfully. He'd decided not to mention their conversation if he could help it, and change the subject if she tried to. She knew where he stood on the matter. Despite the fact that he still felt awful, he tried to be his usual, cocky self. "I'm starving. Got any blood?" She didn't reply at first, just stared into space. "Buffy."

"Wha-?" She focussed on him suddenly. "Oh. Yeah. Kitchen."

"Right." He headed off in the direction of the refrigerator. Two seconds later, she followed him.

"Spike?" She found him rooting through the contents of the fridge ponderously.

"You sure there's blood in here?"

"Yeah," she muttered, absently, "it's at the back, behind the mayo."

He moved the jar. "Got it." Pulling out a bag, he sought out a mug and the microwave. As he emptied the contents into the mug, Buffy said:

"Spike, I need to talk to you."

The mug went into the microwave. "What, you didn't talk enough last night?" He instantly regretted that, and punched a few buttons on the front to distract himself, setting the machine going.

"Yes. No… Um-"

Then, Dawn broke the moment by entering the kitchen. "Hey, Spike."

"Nibblet." He nodded once. "What can I do you for?"

"Anya's moving the books to the car, and we need the keys."

He took them out of his pocket and threw them across the kitchen at her. "There you go."

"Thanks," she said, turning on her heel and bouncing back to the lounge. Just as Buffy was about to speak again, the microwave beeped. Spike removed the mug, took an experimental sip, and walked straight past her to the lounge. She sighed, shook her head at her complete uselessness, and joined everyone else.

Two hours later, as darkness began to fall, the entire Scooby gang filed out into Spike's de Soto. The books and various weapons had all been piled into the back and were taking up half of the back seat. The trunk would have been more sensible, but they couldn't get it open. Anya had positioned herself next to them after putting the last one in, and Giles squeezed in next to her. Everyone else managed to squash in; it had been a tighter squeeze than Buffy had anticipated. She was in the front with Spike, giving directions to where she'd last seen the Magic – on the outskirts of town.

They got there after half an hour and only one wrong turn, to the accompaniment of Spike complaining about Slayers and their complete lack of directional sense. The two were behaving amicably, so much so that everyone, save Giles, had forgotten about the atmosphere between them the previous night. The reason for Buffy's complete inability to navigate was that she was still working out how to tell Spike how she felt. If she whispered it, right that second, so quietly that only he could hear her, would he believe it? She doubted it, and he'd probably end up crashing the car with the shock. Making the conscious decision to tell him before the night was out, she merely let herself believe it would all be fine between them once she had. She couldn't deal with the consequences if it wasn't…

Suddenly, Willow broke through her thoughts. "Getting close. Feel it."

Looking – or rather, peering – through the grubby window, Buffy nodded. "Yeah, this is pretty close to where I found it. Stop the car, Spike." He complied, pulling to a halt.

Slowly, everyone filed out of the car. For the moment, the Magic wasn't visible, but Willow wasn't the only one who could sense it. As Buffy had mentioned, one didn't have to go near to be able to feel it – its energy could be detected from at least a mile away, like some malevolent presence. Giving each other supportive glances, they set off in their small army, Buffy leading the way, and Giles and Anya, laden with books, bringing up the rear.

They found the Magic, which had chosen to settle, as Bad Things tended to in Sunnydale, in an abandoned, derelict building site, one which was in a greater state of disrepair than most. Whether this was the fault of the Magic or not was difficult to tell, but the atmosphere reeked of power, and the situation was eerie and disconcerting. The Scoobies stood and took in the sight for several seconds.

So far, the Magic appeared to be asleep, for want of a better word. It had manifested itself as a sort of cloud; it was a greyish, purplish shade, and huge, lying close to the ground like a mist. Within its depths, streaks of white and red lightning occasionally crackled. As yet, it hadn't noticed their presence. Getting straight to business, Buffy directed her friends into forming two separate groups. On one side, Anya and Giles set out the collection of books in front of them, all opened to the middle; on the other side of Buffy, Willow, Xander and Dawn stood close together, the ex-witch in the middle, preparing for her purge. She was trembling from the Magic within her as it sensed its larger whole nearby.

Buffy, with Spike close behind her, stood defiantly in the middle of the two groups. "Okay, guys. You all good to go?" She was answered by several nods from both sides. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

With that, she began to taunt the Magic into waking up, and, when that didn't work, she invited Spike to help her throw small rocks at its mass. This worked, and they succeeded in annoying it into alertness. A low, slow growling sound filled the air, and the mist-like mass began to rise, swirling itself into a vaguely circular shape. It hovered menacingly, as if pondering its next move.

Although she hated to admit it, Buffy was scared. She had no idea precisely what she was dealing with, and didn't know what to expect, or how to fight it, and that terrified her. If there was one thing she hated, it was feeling helpless. She muttered something to Spike about trying to keep it in one place, then moved slowly to Willow. Between them, Xander and Dawn helped the redhead to stand tall, and, with a nod from Buffy, she began to chant. Buffy stood clear, walking back over to Spike. Very slowly, the rising mist began to move closer to Willow; Xander tightened his grip on her arm, and Dawn, despite her fear, did the same. When it was close enough, Willow suddenly threw her head up, raised a clawed hand, and began to expel the Magic from her system.

The larger Magic immediately latched on and began to drain her, as sparks flew, and the lightning zapped around. The mass grew slightly bigger. As she purged, Willow began to glow slightly purple, then levitated a few inches and stayed there for several seconds. Then, suddenly, she screamed, glowing brighter. Xander resisted the urge to cover his ears and held on to her. As suddenly as it began, her screaming stopped, and she fell to the ground. She collapsed, unconscious, as Xander fell to his knees beside her and checked for a pulse. He found one and breathed a sigh of relief, casting Buffy a glance to let her know Willow was okay.

There was silence. Anya and Giles pondered exactly how they were going to get the books near enough to recapture their contents, and then, all Hell broke loose.

Suddenly, there were demons of all shapes and sizes everywhere, surrounding them. Buffy and Spike threw themselves into the fray, unconsciously venting their frustrations with each other into fighting off the demons. They killed several, and incapacitated even more, but they kept on coming, forming from the mist and attacking almost instantly.

Dawn realised there was nothing she could really do for Willow, so she left her in Xander's capable hands and headed off to help her sister and her best friend fend off the anticipated demon army.

Giles watched, somewhat helplessly, not wanting to leave Anya on her own, and wondered if it called for him to use the incantation yet. Now that Dawn had recklessly endangered herself – although, he noted, she seemed to be doing fine – it would seem that the situation was becoming desperate. Then, suddenly, an idea hit him, and he rooted through his pockets for something. Pulling out a small book, he flicked through the well-thumbed pages, and began to read. Anya looked puzzled.

"Giles, this is no time to-"

"Sh," he cut her off, silencing her with a wave of his hand. "Just keep an eye on them." He returned to reading the book, his expression becoming grimmer as he did so.

It was then that Spike noticed Dawn. "Nibblet, what the _Hell_ are you doing?" he asked, incredulous, punching a demon in the face.

"Helping, what does it look like?!" She grinned, emulating her sister as she kicked another in the stomach.

"Well, don't!"

"Why not?"

"You're going to get hurt." Another, different demon went down. Buffy fought off two more as she backed towards them, irritated.

"And you two would be better off fighting this bunch of nasties instead of each other," she said. _Punch._

"Buffy, I can't believe you're letting her do this." _Kick. _"What about all that 'protect her' stuff?"

"You can still protect her, Spike," she explained, as the two of them ripped the head off another adversary. "But if she doesn't learn to protect herself, she's not going to get very far in life." Spike had to agree with her on that one, and Dawn beamed at her sister's confidence in her, leaping onto the back of a particularly large demon, distracting it enough that Spike could kill it. "Now, shut up, both of you. You're wasting energy."

With that, she headed back towards the mass of Magic, fighting off the larger demons before they'd had a chance to work out their surroundings. Their battle continued in much the same manner for quite a while, and then, just as suddenly as they'd appeared, the demons vanished, and silence descended once more.

Buffy looked around somewhat suspiciously as she rejoined Spike and her sister. "Why do I get the feeling that isn't gonna be it?" she asked, rhetorically. Just as Spike was about to retort, a breeze picked up. It started blowing stronger, turning into a gale that nearly threw them all off balance. Buffy realised it was bad news and sprang to action once more. "Anya, Giles, get those books and get out of here!" she shouted. "Xander, take Willow."

All three of them complied, gathering their respective burdens and running back in the direction from which they'd arrived, back towards the car. Buffy, ushering Dawn and Spike ahead of her, followed, as the storm grew gradually worse and more dangerous.

When they were clear of it, beyond the boundaries of the walls it was behind, they stopped, breathless. Anya dropped the books again, irritated, and Xander placed Willow carefully on the ground, crouching by her. "What," asked Spike, "_was_ that?"

"I don't know, but I didn't want to say around and find out. Everyone okay?"

They nodded. Anya frowned. "We could have left the books there. They're heavy, you know. And the Magic could have found its way back without us."

"Yeah, and they could also have been destroyed," countered Buffy. "Then we'd be worse off." Anya conceded defeat, but didn't look happy about it.

Spike looked at Dawn, concerned. "You all right, Bit?"

"Yeah," she said, rubbing her arm absently. "But now what, Buffy?"

"She's right," said Xander. "We can't just sit here."

Giles intervened before she could say anything. "I may have a plan."

"What?" prodded Buffy.

He indicated the book he'd been perusing. "This book – one I haven't use for years, incidentally, but which is very useful nonetheless – says that the only way to get released magic back to its original source is the same way it came out…"

"So, you mean Will has to put it back, yes?"

"Ideally," he clarified, "but as she's temporarily incapacitated, it'll have to be someone else. And considering her history, I wouldn't have advised she perform the task herself, anyway."

"So who?" asked Dawn.

"Not you," came her answer, from everyone. Then, Giles continued:

"This magic is very powerful. If it detects even the slightest amount of magical power in the host, it'll latch on and immediately try to take over, like it did Willow in the first place. In this instance, I think we need someone who has been the least exposed to any magic. Dawn, despite the obvious reasons, wouldn't have been a suitable candidate; she's been exposed to magic, and recently, what with Halfrek, and Willow, too. Xander has been around her too much to be safe – sometimes magic has a tendency to, um, leak…"

"Nice…" he muttered. "But now you come to mention it, she was attacking me with the same magic before I pulled her out of it."

"Precisely. As for myself and Anya, we've performed too many spells to be immune; we'd be done for. Not only that, the potential host needs to be strong in mind and body…" He trailed off, but Buffy understood where he was leading.

"It has to be me…"

"No." That was, unsurprisingly, Spike. "It doesn't always have to be you." To Giles, he added, "What about me, could I do this?"

"In theory… although I'm sure you've done your fair share of spells, or Drusilla did." Buffy frowned at the mention of Drusilla, wondering briefly if this was the same reaction Spike got when she mentioned Angel. "Even if it was years ago, there's always the issue of those trials you went through… and whatever magic the shaman used to give you the soul…"

"I see your point, Watcher-boy," he said, "but here's another one. Buffy was fightin' Willow, too, wasn't she? She's been exposed to this before."

Giles thought about it. "That's true, Spike, yes. But with her Slayer abilities, the residual effects wouldn't have stayed around very long. Her immune system can combat practically anything, including attacks caused by magic."

"Gotta love those Slayer powers," she muttered.

Spike turned back to her. "You are _not_ going out there, Buffy." Realising what he was suggesting, Dawn clung to him in an attempt to make him change his mind. "It's my turn."

Buffy looked at him sternly. "No way. You're not even fully healed yet." Before he could argue the matter further, she walked away from him, taking Giles aside. "It really does have to be me, doesn't it?" she asked, quietly. He nodded. "I'm strong enough, and my mind is clear… well, as clear as it'll ever be…" Giles looked fraught, unwilling to let her do this, but knowing she had to. "What do I have to do?"

"There's a chant," he explained, "something I can say that makes the magic choose a host. It'll start to glow red; when it does, just… just hold up your hand like Willow did earlier, and it should absorb into you that way." He stopped and took a deep breath. "I'm not going to lie to you, Buffy. It's going to hurt, physically and mentally. You must do everything in your control to keep it beneath your consciousness. If it takes over…" He was unable to finish the sentence, but she understood.

"Noted. So how do I get it out of me and into the books again?"

"That, I don't know. If you think you're able to purge it as Willow did, we can try that. If not… we'll have to think of another way."

She sighed. "Okay. Let's do this." Turning back to face her friends and sister, she addressed them. "It's decided. I'm going in." She was assaulted by variations on "Buffy, no!" and silenced them all with her hand. "Either I do this, or that thing takes over the whole of Sunnydale." Everyone then had no choice but to conceded she was right, and hung their heads. _Such is the lot of a Slayer,_ she thought. _Gotta hurt people to save 'em. _"Xander?"

"Yeah?"

"Put Willow in the car and stay with her, okay? There's not much more you can do."

He nodded, complying. In the distance, the sounds of the storm had dwindled to nothing, making it safe to re-approach the Magic for the final round. Without having to be asked again, Anya picked up a few of the books, as did Giles, and looked ready, smiling weakly, but supportively. "Buffy, if anyone can do this, I believe you can," she said. "We all have faith in you."

"Thanks, Anya…" Buffy turned to Xander as he stepped out of the car, having lain Willow inside. She couldn't find enough words to say to him, after the past few days they'd had. Instead, she hugged him awkwardly. "I'll be careful. I promise." Xander squeezed her, the potential danger of the situation finally sinking in. "Look after Will for me. Tell her what's going on when she wakes up." She felt him nod, then let him go. After a pause, she sought out Giles and hugged him, too.

The ex-Watcher held her tentatively, and quietly said, "Tell him…"

"I will…" she said. Determined, she started to head back to the site of the Magic. Spike and Dawn followed, equally determined, the former looking a combination of annoyed with Buffy's penchant for death wishes, and proud of her bravery. Giles followed, his arms full of books and his expression grim. Anya was the last to leave, gathering her armful into a more comfortable position.

Suddenly, Xander touched her arm. When she turned to question him, he surprised her by planting a quick kiss on her lips. "Be careful," he said, then disappeared into the de Soto. She smiled, bewildered, then set off after the others.

Ten minutes later, everything had been set up again. The Magic, although not asleep, seemed to be momentarily dormant, occasionally crackling. Giles thumbed through his little book to find the incantation he'd need, while Buffy spoke to Dawn.

The brunette was part-anxious, and part-irritated. "Why is it always you, Buffy?"

"Because I'm the Slayer. Comes with the package."

"It's not fair…" she said. "I'm going to lose you again, aren't I?" Her eyes filled with tears at the thought.

"No, Dawnie…" Her sister sniffed. "Listen. This stuff didn't kill Willow, did it?"

"I guess not…"

"Well, then, it won't kill me, either. I'm coming back, Dawn. Honestly." Stroking her sister's hair, she added, semi-comically, "Then we can all go for pizza, okay?"

Dawn hugged her tight. "I'm gonna hold you to that, Buff."

Buffy hugged her back, and then they released each other. She looked for Spike. He was a few feet away, giving them some privacy, kicking absently at a stone on the ground. She approached him cautiously. She had to tell him. "Spike…"

He looked at her. His attempt to be aloof didn't last very long, as the possibility of losing her again struck home. "Well. Here we are again." Off her puzzled look, he explained, "You runnin' off to save the world, and me stuck in one without you."

"You know I have to do this."

"Yeah." He jammed both hands in his pockets. "Doesn't mean I have to like the idea."

"It's not a suicide mission this time, Spike."

"Maybe not," he said, "but it could be, if it all goes horribly wrong. Buffy, do you even know what you're doing?"

She shrugged. "Not really…"

"You don't even care, do you?"

"I thought we went through the whole me-caring thing yesterday…"

"You know what I mean." They'd learnt the hard way that arguing didn't solve anything, so Spike stopped his tirade and sighed. "All right, I'll make you a deal. You asked me to be careful, and look: I'm still here, undead and relatively intact." Buffy nodded. "I'm asking you the same thing – be careful, love."

"I guess that's fair," she said.

Spike retrieved his hands from his pockets and rested them lightly on her shoulders. "I've lived in a world without you once and that was enough," he told her. He was wearing his 'I-love-you-more-than-I-can-say' expression, one she'd previously dreaded seeing, which now was all the more reason for her to succeed in what she was going to do. "I can't go through that again. If you're goin' out there, I want a guarantee you're coming back."

She felt tears starting to well up. "And if I don't?"

"I'll do what I always do. Look after the Bit, and everyone else."

Buffy doubted very much he'd manage that if he lost her again. She reached up to touch his cheek. "In that case, you've got your guarantee. Someone needs to look after _you_…" Spike smiled, wondering why he'd ever doubted her. He promised himself he'd take back the ultimatum as soon as this was over… assuming she did, in fact, stay alive long enough to appreciate the gesture.

He leaned forwards and kissed her surprisingly gently, and she melted, wrapping her arms around him. They fell into each other's embrace. Spike closed his eyes and pretended they were somewhere else - anywhere else – holding her closer. He knew he had to let her go, that if he didn't, they'd all be dead anyway… but as long as Buffy was in his arms, she was alive, and not threatening her own life again, for however long they had left before the Magic got annoyed again. He couldn't let go. He'd told her once that he was drowning in her, and he still was, falling deeper and deeper into the murk the longer he stood there because he couldn't swim, and then, just before he hit the bottom, she whispered something in his ear and pulled away, and her warmth disappeared, and left him cold and stunned on dry land.

His eyes shot open as he searched for her. She was some distance away, running towards the purple-grey mist, indicating to Giles to start the incantation. He snapped himself out of his dazed stupor and lurched forwards. "Buffy! No!"

Dawn stopped him running to her by gently grasping his arm and holding him back. "Don't," she said. "You'll interrupt the spell…" They both watched, dumbly, as the mist started fluctuating, changing colour as it started turning red, very slowly. Buffy stood proudly in front of it, waiting.

All Spike could do was stand there and watch, unable to move, with her last words to him echoing through his mind:

__

'I love you…'

To be continued…

*hides* Okay, guys, don't hurt me. Firelily – you had a sense of impending doom she wouldn't get to say it? Well, you weren't far off, really. Anyway, I hope this came out as well as it looked/sounded in my head. I've been waiting about 15 chapters to write this, so hopefully all my waiting did pay off. You know how you can let me know…


	21. Chapter Twenty One

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

A/N: I apologise for the wait, once again. But in all fairness, it's still not as long as Joss makes everyone wait after a cliffhanger… Phase two of the battle is about to commence. This was, originally, going to be one of the final aspects of the fic, but then I thought of something else to put on the end. I warn you all in advance, though, if this looks like it's going beyond 30 chapters, I'm going to kill it and let you all figure out the ending for yourselves. Actually, I still haven't figured out how it'll end, so maybe that'll be for the best ;)

Anyhoo, let's see how much more angst I can cram into this thing… And since I'm now aiming for my next target of 150 reviews, keep 'em coming =)

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Cradle

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Chapter Twenty-One

Even if Dawn hadn't stopped him from running in pursuit of Buffy, Spike doubted he would have gotten very far. As it was, he was having trouble even standing up. He was in alternating states of euphoria, sheer panic, and anger, and could do nothing except watch as Buffy waited for the cloud to turn red. Her final words were still bouncing through his mind, repeating until they seemed meaningless. _Did she really just say that?_ he thought. Maybe his brain was playing tricks on him.

Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe she'd only said it because it was what he wanted to hear. _No. Buffy wouldn't do that._ Which meant she'd said it because she wanted him to know… because she knew the situation was worse than she and Giles were letting on. And he knew he couldn't help now, because 'helping' would make it all worse and probably get them all killed.

He looked across to see Giles performing the incantation, reading it carefully from the small book he'd shown them. Briefly, the older man flicked his gaze to Spike, nodded knowingly, and returned his eyes to the book. If Giles knew, he figured, then Buffy must have been telling the truth – and with her Watcher's blessing, no less – and he was completely helpless. _Why now?_ he asked himself. _Why couldn't she have bloody waited? Or realised sooner… _He couldn't help but wonder if he'd inadvertently pushed her into this. He'd given her an ultimatum, but he'd never anticipated it would come to a result so soon.

Spike was no longer drowning. Instead, he was simply falling, helpless, into a world that was potentially without Buffy, and this time, she loved him back. Then, as the mist finally turned a shade of greyish red and stopped fluctuating, he hit the ground with a thud, and snapped himself out of it. No matter what happened, he'd be no use to anyone if he was catatonic. He shook his head to clear it, and looked over at Giles and Anya again.

The two of them were struggling to keep ten very large, heavy books upright between them, and it seemed to be proving a very difficult task. He gave a nod to Dawn to indicate for her to follow, kept one eye on Buffy and the cloud of Magic, and went over to help them. Dawn joined him, glad of the distraction.

The ten books were more easily and safely distributed amongst the four of them, giving Giles a free hand to hold his spell book as he finished the chant. Spike's gaze flickered between Giles, Dawn, and Buffy, and he was filled with dread as the cloud suddenly became very still in the air, a shade of murky crimson.

Buffy knew she couldn't look back. If she did, she'd end up running to him, to reassure him that what she'd said had been the truth. Or to reassure herself, maybe… No. That could wait until a better time. She concentrated on clearing her mind of all unnecessary thought. It wasn't the easiest task in the world. She hadn't even seen Spike's face at her words. Doubtless he'd have been shocked, but she had no idea how else he might have reacted.

Out of the corner of her eye, she was vaguely aware of both Spike and Dawn running over to Giles and Anya, which was far better than knowing he was standing helpless behind her. At least now he was doing something useful, too. The cloud in front of her was still changing colour, ominously slowly, and she could hear Giles' chant behind her. After a few seconds, he stopped. Buffy took a step back, cocking her head defiantly, and breathed in to steady her nerves.

The cloud's colouring finally settled down and it sat there, ominously, waiting for its host to make itself known. She could have sworn that it knew she was there, though, looking down on her somewhat condescendingly, as if she was too small and pathetic to be a host. _We'll show you who's boss,_ she thought, then realised she was directing said thought at a cloud, shaking her head at herself.

She took a deep breath, cleared her mind of all anomalous thoughts, and got ready. Copying what she'd seen Willow do when she'd purged, Buffy raised her left hand, fingers slightly bent, and pointed it towards the Magic…

In the de Soto, Xander was sitting in the back, with Willow stretched out along the seat, her head in his lap. She still hadn't woken up; whatever the Magic had done to her had obviously taken its toll. Xander was, once again, left watching over an incapacitated Willow, when there was nothing he could do to help her. Not that he could really help the others, either, with his arm so fragile.

Not for the first time, he realised he'd messed up, Big Time, by trying to kill Spike. The vampire was in too much of a weakened state (and yet was still stronger than himself, currently) to be of as much use as he usually would; Buffy obviously still hadn't forgiven him completely for what he'd done; Dawn would probably never speak to him again. He'd broken Anya's trust, and possibly Willow's… and now he was the one she was going to see when she came round. Not that he had much choice in the matter, really. He'd just have to deal with her reaction when the time came.

Having just decided this, he felt her begin to wake up, her eyes fluttering open. She came around, staring up at him, a little disorientated for a few seconds.

"Xander…?"

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Welcome back, Will."

"What happened? Where am I?" She sniffed, and wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, it smells of… demon goop.

He laughed. "That'd be about right… Spike's not really a 'pine fresh' kinda guy."

Her eyes adjusted to the light and she realised she was in the de Soto. Xander helped her to sit up, noting with some concern that she appeared to be shaking all over, presumably an after-effect of her ordeal. She put a hand to her head briefly, feeling a slight twinge, then lowered it again and turned to face him. She'd already started to remember what had just happened. "Did it work?"

"I… don't know. They haven't come back yet…" he admitted, realising she didn't have a clue what was going on.

"What do you mean?" She looked confused.

"Uh…" he began, trying to think how to explain it without all of Giles' magical technobabble. "Well, after you purged all that Magic, it got, um, kinda pissed… Demons, everywhere, just coming at us. Buffy and Spike got rid of them and then it started this big ol' magical storm and we all had to evacuate. Then Giles said the only way to get it back into the books was-"

"The same way it came out?" she interrupted.

"Yeah…"

"So… how?"

He hesitated. "Buffy."

Willow went pale. "Buffy?" Xander nodded. "But… someone should have woken me up, Xander. It's my fault that stuff's even out there; I should be the one putting it back."

"Willow, you and I both know that's a stupid idea. As Giles explained, the least magically inclined person had to do it. And that was Buffy. Believe me, none of us were too happy with it."

She seemed to accept this, realising the logic behind the decision. "So she's out there right now?"

"Yup."

"Well, we have to go, too, to help her." That being said, she opened the side door and got out; as soon as she tried to take a step, however, she instantly collapsed again. Xander got out on his side of the car and walked around to help her up.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just still woozy…" Xander helped her to stand up straight, realising there was going to be no talking her out of helping Buffy and the others, and supported her as they made their way back to the derelict building site…

The scene that greeted them on their arrival was nothing short of dramatic, and verging on nightmarish. Giles, Anya, Spike and Dawn were still kneeling in their respective positions on the floor, holding up the books between them, looking on with varying expressions of awed horror. Looking across and following their gazes, Xander and Willow spotted Buffy and what remained of the magical cloud.

The Slayer looked to be deep in concentration as the absorption of the Dark Magic came to an end. She was obviously battling valiantly to keep her mind focussed and alert, and was standing deathly still. Xander and Willow were momentarily stunned into immobility, but the former quickly regained his senses and pulled the redhead towards their friends, so they could help with the pile of books. There was an ominous sort of whooshing in the air, and a crackling sound, and then, as the last of the Magic entered Buffy's system, there was a small 'pop', and silence.

Nobody dared to breathe. Buffy hadn't moved, and was staring at the ground.

Spike was fighting his inner struggle not to go over and help her, and, just as he was about to give in and do just that, she twitched. He was the only one who'd noticed, at first, and then, she twitched again, her entire body jerking. Suddenly, her head shot up, and the assembled Scoobies gasped in shock.

Her skin had paled noticeably, and bluish veins were visible under her flesh. Her eyes were almost black, as Willow's had been occasionally during her recovery, with the occasional pale flicker within their depths, and her hair had turned a dark shade of brown, starting from the roots and working to the tips. The frightening transformation was completed by the ends of her fingertips glowing and shooting occasional sparks and small bolts of lightning.

Giles nudged those beside him. "Get ready," he said, quietly. The group held the books higher and waited for Buffy to approach.

Her movements were slow and deliberate as she concentrated on getting over to her friends, each step forward precise and calculated. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Buffy was close enough. She stopped approximately two feet away from them, and then raised a hand to try and purge the magic back into the books. Everybody braced themselves for the imminent blast.

Nothing happened. Buffy's concentrated expression was momentarily confused as to why, and then, off Giles' encouraging look, she tried again, this time moving her hand nearer to the books. Again, nothing happened. By now, she was starting to tremble with the effort of keeping in control of her mind.

"It's not working!" said Dawn, worried. "Why isn't it working?"

Giles could do nothing but shrug, as he racked his brain for a solution. He didn't want to have to use another incantation on Buffy, but it was beginning to seem like the only option. Suddenly, Willow began tugging on his sleeve excitedly.

"Ooh, I know why it won't work! I-it's because Buffy doesn't know _how_ to do magic; she, uh, she can't control the power inside her. It's just sitting there."

"Of course," he said. Buffy nodded slightly at Willow, proving she was right.

"Okay, Red," said Spike, diplomatically, sounding a lot calmer than he felt, "can you tell her how?"

She nodded. "I… I can try…" She addressed the Slayer, attracting her attention. "Buffy." She was now looking more the worse for wear, silently pleading for Willow to hurry up. "I know it's difficult if you've never done this before, but you have to believe me – it's possible. It's like… mind over matter." Buffy nodded, the movement causing her hair to crackle with energy. "Okay, just… just imagine that all the Magic is centred around your heart, that it… it's being controlled from there, like blood." Nod. "Then try and imagine it coursing through your veins, right down your arms and out through your fingertips." Another nod. "You'll know when it happens; it kinda makes your limbs go all tingly." Willow offered a small smile in an effort to lighten the mood a little, but was rewarded by an impatient glare.

She looked away from Willow again and focussed. She knew she had to get the Magic out of her system very soon or she'd lost control entirely. Everything was starting to blur together and she was feeling incredibly light-headed. And she was tired. So tired. And then, just as she was beginning to think how wonderful sleep sounded at that moment, she heard Spike muttering to himself, apparently unheard by the others. He was telling her to try. He was telling her she could do it, that he believed in her. And beneath his words of encouragement, she detected the undercurrent of love in his tone.

She sought him out through the sea of unconsciousness that was beckoning and found him staring at her over the top of the book he was holding up. He looked scared, but, she realised, not because he thought she wouldn't be able to do it – more because he knew she _would_, but was afraid of losing her in the process. She wasn't prepared to let that happen; she'd guaranteed him that she'd come back.

After holding his gaze one second more, Buffy did as Willow explained. At first, it didn't work in the slightest – the Magic flooded through her entire system and she couldn't make it stop or centre in one place. Then, finally, she pictured it in her mind's eye, as a sort of glowing ball around her heart, and once she'd managed that, it was as though she was in complete control. Her heart rate had increased to an almost impossible height, but that only made the task easier – suddenly, it felt like her arms were on fire – _Tingly??_ she thought, irritatedly – and then, there was a blinding flash of light and the Magic flew from her fingers, straight into the book Giles was holding.

The force with which this happened caused two things to happen – Giles was pushed backwards from the impact, landing against Xander – who was kneeling behind him – and causing him to topple over backwards, too. At the same time, Buffy was forced backwards, up into the air, where she remained suspended while the Magic found its way home. The pages of the myriad books ruffled at great speed as it 'filed' itself in the correct places, so much so that everyone had to struggle to hold onto them. A great wind whipped up around them, taking up dust and debris to such an extent that everyone had to cover their eyes.

Several seconds later, there was silence, and the wind dropped once more. It took a lot longer for the dust to settle, however, and there was a sort of fog covering the immediate surroundings. Anya was the first to open her eyes, looking down at the large book in her hands. She immediately slammed it closed.

"Everyone! It worked! The books are all full!"

Slowly, everyone else opened their eyes to check, and, sure enough, each of the books was back to its previous state. Willow closed hers hastily and put it to one side, encouraging the others to do the same. They formed two neat piles on the floor of closed books, and began to stand up, brushing themselves off.

"Hey, uh, guys…" said Dawn. "Where's-"

"Buffy…" interrupted Spike, suddenly breaking into a run into the dust. The Scoobies looked after him, peering into the murk, and were just able to make out his leather-clad form crouching near the floor. Exchanging concerned glances, they followed him.

The Slayer had dropped from the air and landed heavily on the floor, in a position that exactly resembled how she'd landed after her fall from the tower. Her body still crackled slightly from the energy she'd had claim over, but her skin and hair colour had returned to normal. She was unconscious, but breathing.

Spike reached out a hand to touch her and then recoiled with a curse as he got shocked.

"Careful, Spike," warned Giles, slightly too late. "There's still magic in her system, though less malevolent – that of the coven. If you touch her, it'll be like touching a very mild electric fence."

"I noticed…" he muttered. "This dust probably isn't helping matters. We have to get her back to the house." So saying, he took off his duster and wrapped her in it, then scooped her into his arms and headed dutifully towards the de Soto. Even if it didn't help, he figured that having shocks down his arms would make a change from shocks in his brain. Everyone followed him in silence, not entirely sure what to say, gathering the now-full books and re-piling them and themselves into the back of the car, while Spike carefully laid Buffy in the passenger seat.

In silence, he drove them back to Revello Drive…

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To be continued…

Okay, okay, I apologise many, many times and very, very loud about the time it took me to get this somewhat pathetic attempt at a chapter to you. When was it _I posted chapter 20? September. Anyway, sorry, again, for the 50th time for some of you ;) (Firelily, Darryl, hope it was worth the long wait.) Now that I'm back into this, hopefully, Chapter 22 will be here a little faster, and then there's not much more to do, maybe about four more chapters. Then I have something silly planned with my "Farscape" co-author, Cyril the Sixteen Goldfish, which will either be posted here or on the 'scape board. (There, that in itself should give you a clue :P) Anyway. Yes. Please review. I promise not to keep you waiting this long again *sweet smile*_


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

Disclaimer, part two: _I know nothing about Magic, nor do I claim to, but I needed an explanation, and it made sense in my head. That'll make sense when you read it ;)_

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A/N: Right. On we go towards the final furlong of this fic. Only a few more chapters to go, I think. Many thanks to everyone who's held in there this long despite the long delay for Chapter 21; all the reviews and everything really mean a lot =)

Anyway. As for this chapter – back to the Summers residence we go, and then a few physical and mental journeys to be started before the ending. The Anya/Willow conversation may seem initially pointless, but trust me, there's a reason for it. The Giles/Xander conversation is just plain odd, and I have no idea where it came from. And just when you thought the angst was over… *evil smile*

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Cradle

Chapter Twenty-Two

Spike's de Soto pulled up outside the house a little before sunrise, as the sky was starting to turn a dark blue. It was still safe enough for him to get out of the car without bursting into flames; he'd managed to time it just right, for once. As he was peering out of the window to check, everyone else clambered out of the back of the car, one by one, stretching their legs and rolling cricks out of their necks.

Dawn had fallen asleep on the journey home and was leaning groggily on Anya, still only half-awake. Willow, still a little unstable after her own ordeal, was being semi-supported by Xander, and Giles was holding the door open for Spike as he carefully extricated Buffy from the passenger seat, still unconscious. The vampire managed to get her out, nodded a thanks to her Watcher, then indicated for him to take her off him and inside. Giles looked briefly confused, until Spike explained:

"I'll take the books back to the Magic Box; you deal with the Slayer." Despite his brave, helpful front, however, it was obvious that he wanted to stay as close to her as possible until she woke up.

"It's all right, Spike," said Giles. "We'll move the books to my car and I'll take them."

Spike smiled a relieved, grateful smile, and led the way into the house. Once inside, he laid Buffy on the still slightly mangled couch, making sure she'd be comfortable when she woke up and laying his duster over her while he was at it. Giles was the last in, shutting the door behind him. Anya helped Dawn stumble up the stairs towards her room and re-emerged a few seconds later, while Xander helped Willow to a chair.

All eyes were on Spike as he positioned himself on the floor by Buffy's head, absently stroking her hair. After a few seconds of silence, he suddenly turned to Giles. "Well?" he asked. "What now?"

The Watcher scratched his head thoughtfully, clearly as concerned for her as everyone else. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I didn't anticipate this."

Willow offered: "I guess we wait til she wakes up."

Giles nodded, agreeing, as Anya re-emerged from upstairs. "How's the Bit?" asked Spike, equally concerned for her as he was for Buffy.

"Exhausted," she said. "Not that I blame her."

"Well, we're all tired," said Giles, " but the sooner those books are back at the Magic Box where they belong, the better, in my opinion."

"I'll go with you, G-man," said Xander, moving over to the front door, waiting for the Watcher to follow. "I'm sure Spike can look after the girls."

His sudden indication of trust wasn't lost on the vampire, but the brief moment of implied reconciliation between them was broken by Willow, perturbed, saying: "Hey, we don't need no man to look after us… Right, Anya?"

"No," she agreed. "But still… hurry back?"

Willow rolled her eyes, and Giles and Xander headed back out to the car to set about moving the books again. Spike hadn't been paying attention to the conversation around him, his thoughts focussed on Buffy as she lay on the couch. He seemed completely oblivious to the presence of anyone else in the room. Willow and Anya exchanged a glance, and then the former struggled to her feet and headed over to him.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Um. Spike?"

He sighed, and snapped out of his reverie as he turned to face her. "Yeah?"

"I was just thinking. That couch is on its last legs. Buffy'd be more comfortable upstairs, and there's a chair in her room, if you want to stay with her. And, uh, you can be sure Dawn's okay, too." Spike was obviously considering the possibility, but he looked worried by the idea. Willow seemed to understand. "I know you're worried about what Xander or Giles might think, but… you proved yourself tonight, helping us, and getting her out of there, too. It'd be best for her, Spike."

"Yeah," added Anya. "Screw what they think."

He looked back at the comatose Slayer. "I guess you're right, Red." Just as carefully as before, he wrapped her in the coat and picked her up again, heading towards the stairs.

Willow called after him when he was halfway up. "You want some blood or anything?" A 'no, thanks' filtered down the stairs as Spike rounded the corner and vanished into Buffy's room. After a few seconds, Willow shrugged and sat down on the couch, which creaked slightly in complaint, and was joined by Anya soon after. They sat in silence for a while.

"Well," said Anya, "I'd say that went well, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah. Apart from the whole, y'know, me-being-unconscious, having-to-change-the-plan, and Buffy-nearly-dying-again thing…" She was being sarcastic, but gave Anya a friendly smile to prove it wasn't personal.

"Well, yes. But apart from that… at least the Magic's back where it belongs." Pause. "And, uh, I happen to think you were very brave to purge it like you did. I don't think I could have done it."

"Oh, it was nothing," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "It had to be done. I mean… it was my fault…"

Anya didn't really know what to say to that comment, so she said nothing, and hoped her silence was reassuring. Then, the silence in the house got too much. "I feel like watching some mindless infomercials. How about you?"

"Sounds good."

The ex-demon looked around half-heartedly for the remote control for the television, neither of them particularly wanting to get up. It was, of course, nowhere to be found. Then, she spotted it on the other side of the room… crushed beyond redemption. It hadn't escaped the fight between Spike and Xander unscathed, apparently. "Oh, well…"

"It's no problem," said Willow. "I told myself to lay off the spells for a while, but… one little one won't hurt." Thus saying, she waved casually at the television and muttered something that sounded vaguely Latin. Nothing happened. She leaned closer, trying again, louder and firmer. Still nothing. Confused, she examined her hand, as if that held the answer to the problem. Before she could think too hard about it, however, Anya shrugged.

"Looks like we'll just have to do this the hard way." She got up and turned the television on manually and then returned to her place next to Willow, who was now looking decidedly worried by her failure to use magic. "I'm sure you're just tired, Willow," she suggested. "Purging that bad Magic took a lot out of you, I imagine. Just rest, and tomorrow you'll be fine."

"Yeah. I guess so…"

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Magic Box…

Neither Giles nor Xander had remembered that there were no shelves left in the shop upon which to put the books. As such, when they arrived, before they could do anything, they had to loosely reconstruct a semi-secure container from some of the debris near the back. Luckily, with Xander's skills, this didn't prove too difficult, and they managed to build one from the remains of a weapons chest, a large piece of wood to serve as the lid, and several heavy bricks on the top to keep it safe. Then they covered it with more of the debris, just in case anyone found it and decided to use the books.

This kept them occupied for about an hour, where the only words that were exchanged were various instructions and suggestions. The air between them was still somewhat awkward after Xander's near-staking of Spike, and Giles wasn't entirely sure how to approach the subject. The car journey back to Buffy's house passed in mutual silence; that is, until they stopped at a set of lights, and it got too much for the older man to put up with.

"All right," said Giles, suddenly, "this is utterly ridiculous."

Xander was puzzled. "It's only the first set of lights we've hit, Giles. Chill."

"That's not what I mean."

"Oh." Giles cast him a briefly serious glance, and then he understood. "Oh… Okay, just let me know how disappointed you are with me and get it over with."

"It's not that simple, Xander." He sighed. "You know what you did was wrong, and you're obviously sorry for it, for Buffy's sake if not Spike's. The problem is, she expects me to be the one to talk this out with you. And _my_ problem is that, right up until you nearly staked him, I was considering doing the exact same thing myself."

"What?" 

"When Buffy told me what had happened… I just wanted him gone, too."

Xander considered this. There seemed little point in asking why, because he'd felt the same. "So I guess the problem really isn't between us, is it?" Giles shook his head. The lights changed, and he pulled off as Xander continued. "I think Buffy and I managed to clear the air, and she's got no problem with you. The problem is… that we've got no more reason to hate Spike."

"Precisely."

"And that shouldn't be a problem, really, should it? If we're not hating him, it's meant to make life easier…"

"But it doesn't."

"Weird." They didn't appear to be getting anywhere. Giles tried to summarise it better.

"What it boils down to, I feel, is that we all love Buffy, and that makes us protective of her, because we're her friends. It doesn't matter that she's the Slayer and protects the entire town on a regular basis. And I think, after last year and everything she went through, that we've all been possibly _too_ protective of her. _Especially_ after Angel…" He stopped at another set of lights, muttering, "Oh, for goodness' sake…" as Xander carried on his train of thought.

"Exactly, and it's not like Spike and I were ever on the best of terms. After Anya, I…" He stopped, not particularly wanting to re-visualise it or even think about it. "But I think we all have to accept that he really does love Buffy, as unlikely as it seems."

"And… she does love him," added Giles. Then, from Xander's half-stunned silence in the passenger seat, he remembered that nobody else knew yet. The lights still hadn't changed, and Xander hadn't said anything. "She, um, told me the other night, after he left. I think they had some sort of argument; I'm not sure. But she was incredibly upset about something, and… told me she loves him."

"Whoa…" was all he could say. Then again, they'd all assumed as much and accused her of it countless times. "Does anyone else know?"

Giles shook his head; finally, the lights turned green and he moved off again. "Nobody. I don't think she even intended to tell _me_. It was somewhat an epiphany…"

"So Spike doesn't know, either?"

"He… may do. I know he's suspected it for a while. I told her to tell him…"

Silence fell in the car. Then, after five minutes or so, Xander broke through it by saying, "Well. I guess that's the end of the problem…"

They got back to find Willow and Anya both fast asleep on the couch, with the television on low and a re-run of _Passions_ showing on it. The girls stirred as the door closed and looked around groggily. For the moment, neither Giles nor Xander questioned where Spike or Buffy were, especially considering the entertainment on the set.

Willow yawned. "Oh… hey, guys."

"Are all the books safe?" asked Anya, concern etching into her tone. Giles nodded, explaining about the precautions they'd had to take, and she seemed to relax a little. "Well, the sooner the shop is rebuilt, the better. I'm considering getting better security around _all_ the powerful magical items, not just the books."

"That sounds like a sensible idea," agreed Giles. "And now, I think everyone needs some sleep."

"_That_ sounds like an even _more_ sensible idea," noted Xander. Then, as Willow and Anya got up from the couch and began to head upstairs, both he and Giles seemed to simultaneously realise that there were two people missing. "Um. This may be a completely stupid question, but… weren't Buffy and Fang-boy here before we left?"

Anya nodded as though their not being there was the most normal thing in the world, and in such a manner that implied Xander had been living under a rock for the past month. "They were. They're upstairs."

"Oh," he said, the words not really registering. "Why?"

"Willow figured Buffy'd be more comfortable in her own bed, and we let Spike sit with her."

"He's keeping an eye on Dawny, too," interjected the redhead, helpfully. Xander looked at Giles semi-helplessly; the older man merely shrugged.

"Oh. Okay." He left it at that, to everyone's obvious relief. "You okay, Will? Need any help?"

She thought about it, contemplated the staircase, decided it was beginning to look rather too much like a mountain, and gave a nod. "Yeah… Don't wanna risk my legs giving up halfway."

Xander moved nearer to Willow and they headed up the stairs. Anya called after him, "Goodnight, Xander, Willow." They repeated the sentiment from halfway up, and she made herself comfortable on the couch, again. "Are you taking the chair again, Giles? Because I don't mind swapping."

"What?" he asked. He'd not really been paying attention, his mind on Buffy's current predicament. "Oh. No, it's all right, Anya. I'm not tired, anyway. And even if I was, I doubt I'd get much sleep after tonight's events." He reached for the little book out of his pocket again and looked at it thoughtfully for a moment. "I'll be in the dining room researching so as not to disturb you."

"Oh, okay. Let me know if you need any help; I know how tedious it can get…"

"Thank you, but you should rest. I need to find out how to help Buffy."

Anya nodded, then yawned, realising how tired she was. "Okay… 'Night…" She rolled over to face the back of the couch, and was asleep within seconds. Giles watched her with a slightly amused smile for a moment, then leaned down to turn off the still flickering television before making his way to the dining room. Once in there, he thumbed through the book until he got to the few pages from which he'd read the incantation earlier, hoping it might provide something resembling useful information about getting the remaining magic out of Buffy's system.

One hour and seventeen re-readings later, it had proved less than fruitful, and reading-between-the-lines had become reading-between-the-letters, all to no avail whatsoever. He had, however, come to a few conclusions. Willow had purged the Magic from her system, as she needed to, and with it, the magic she'd also taken from him, that of the coven back in England. He doubted if she'd intended to do that – the purge seemed only to _start_ of her own volition, and after that, the larger body of Magic had merely latched on and literally sucked it out of her. The result of this was that when Buffy absorbed it all, _she _had the Magic from the coven inside her, as well.

Through Willow's guidance and a little determination, she had, at least, managed to get it all out of her system again afterwards, although it had seemed touch and go for a while. Unfortunately, because the coven's magic didn't reside in the books, it had no incentive to return to them. Giles also knew that Magics of different 'temperaments', as it were, tended not to get along, and would normally stay as far apart as it was possible to do so. This, he figured out, accounted for why Buffy still had it in her system. The force of the Dark Magic returning 'home' had been so great, she'd been knocked unconscious, and after the strain of trying to keep her mind focussed, he guessed that she'd probably welcomed the oblivion as soon as it had beckoned.

Waking her up, therefore, didn't seem to be an immediate problem, although everyone was clearly worried that it was more serious. However, Giles was adamant that the coven's magic was not only benevolent, but benign and useless, as it had already served its purpose. And since Buffy had no use for it, it was merely lying dormant. This, though, was the problem. Buffy didn't know how to do magic. Even after Willow's brief lesson, he doubted she'd want to go through it again. The only way to get rid of it was to have it removed.

And the only person who knew how to remove it was the person who'd made it in the first place.

Finally, something was making sense. Wearily, he took off his glasses and rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes, then put them back on and got up, heading towards the telephone. He thought for a moment, then dialled a number, waiting for the person on the receiving end to pick up as he rubbed away the migraine he could feel forming between his eyebrows. After a few seconds, someone picked up.

"Hello? Vivianne?" 

On the other side of the world, a tired-looking woman with dark brown hair glowered into the phone. "Yes…? Rupert?"

"Did I wake you?" 

"It's four o'clock in the morning. Of course you didn't," she muttered, sarcastically.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot about these blasted time zones."

She smiled. "How did it go? Did it work?"

"Yes. Although not quite as smoothly as I'd hoped. But, um, obviously, the world didn't end."

"Obviously." There was a pause. "Did you want something, or do you just delight in calling me at ungodly hours of the day?"

"Oh, yes. I apologise, Vivanne, I'm exhausted and my mind isn't really working. Um… I have a problem."

"Again? You've really got to stop getting yourself into trouble, you know. It's not good for you." She yawned and raked a hand through her somewhat unruly hair, trying to wake herself up so she'd be able to help. "What's the problem?"

She listened intently as Giles recounted the past month he'd spent in Sunnydale, occasionally nodding to herself as she took in all the information. When he explained about Buffy's involvement, she had to bite her tongue to stop herself preaching at him about letting amateurs handle dangerous Magics. Giles knew that already, and she knew Giles, and knew that he wouldn't have endangered his Slayer unless it was the final resort.

"…so," he finished, "you see my dilemma."

Vivianne looked momentarily thoughtful. "So our Magic is in the Slayer."

"Yes."

"But she's unconscious?"

"For the moment. I'm fairly sure she'll come round soon."

"I see. And you don't think she'll be willing to try and purge the Magic herself?"

"No. It was incredibly harrowing for everyone involved, Vivianne. I don't want to put her through that again."

"No, no, I understand completely, Rupert. Um…" She thought. "All right. There's only one way to get it out of her. I need to gather the coven and we need to reverse the spell that created it in the first place. That should just make it… vanish."

"You're sure?"

"Mm. It's not permanent; you know that. It was only meant to be in you for long enough to help the Rosenburg girl. It was meant to just fade after a certain time, but I can see that's not an option in Buffy's case."

Giles breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness. When can you gather the coven?"

"Tomorrow." She looked at the clock, and sighed. "Today, even…"

"Wonderful. And you're certain the reversal will work over such a long distance?"

She laughed, then realised he was being serious. "Goddess, no. You'll… you'll have to bring her here, Rupert. To Devon. It'll be a few days at the most, to make sure she's… intact, and whatnot."

He sighed heavily. He was pretty sure Buffy wouldn't mind a trip to England, but he was absolutely certain that Spike wouldn't like the idea. But he'd convince everyone somehow. "All right. I'll let you know when we're coming. Thank you, Vivianne."

"My pleasure…"

"Good… morning."

"Yeah. 'Night."

The phone went down. Giles slowly disconnected his end of the call, not really thinking about what he was doing, and replaced the receiver. He cast a glance at the stairs, a little worriedly, then decided there was really no other option. He'd have to take Buffy to England. As soon as possible.

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To be continued…

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A'N: Yup, sorry, cliffhanger again! And didja like how I did the twist on Willow going to England there? Hehe. Okay, again, many apologies for the lateness of the chapter, but at least it's not as late as the last one ;) Keep those reviews comin', folks!


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

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Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

A/N: First of all, very obviously, I don't know any magic words, and don't remember enough Latin to make them up from that, so I've gone with the next best thing. 'Harry Potter' fans, please don't lynch me for shamelessly stealing J.K.Rowling's magic words =) Anyway. Some more randomly pointless (or possibly not) conversations and interactions, something resembling A/X, and hopefully a leeeettle bit of Spuffy to keep everyone off my back after the last chapter ;) Hey, just because she's realised she loves him doesn't mean it's going to be roses from now on, you know. They still have a lot of talking to do. Just not right now. As usual, reviews are welcomed and given cookies, so enjoy =)

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Chapter Twenty-Three

Anya woke up feeling distinctly aware that she wasn't alone in the lounge. It was rather unnerving, especially when she knew she'd gone to sleep being the only one there. Giles didn't count – he was in the dining room, and had been all night, researching Buffy's predicament. So, she was a little nervous about opening her eyes, just in case whatever was in the room with her was a Bad Thing.

She opened first one eye, then the other, adjusting her vision to the light in the room, and then breathed a sigh of relief when she saw who it was. "Oh… Xander." She smiled, sitting up. "I thought you were a demon."

He smiled back. "Pot; kettle; black." He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching her at eye-level, and seemed to have been there for a while. Anya gave a large yawn as she stretched, then looked at him somewhat curiously.

"What are you doing? And how long have you been there?"

"Watching you," he said, matter-of-factly, "and for about an hour." Then, by way of explanation, he added, "Willow woke up about half an hour before that and said she wanted to be by herself for a while, so I came downstairs…" He trailed off, shrugging. "And now I'm hungry." He got to his feet, also stretching. "What say we impress the others with our combined culinary skills?"

"You mean the culinary skills that resulted in us getting take out every night?" she said, standing up, smiling at him knowingly.

"If you and Will can make pancakes, then you and I can definitely throw together an omelette or two," he said, as they headed to the kitchen. "And with any luck, the smell of the food might wake Buffy up along with everyone else…"

Upstairs in Joyce's old room, Willow was dressed and sitting cross-legged in the centre of the bed, her expression becoming gradually more worried. In front of her was a selection of small items – a few dried flowers, a couple of pens, and a CD. She stared at them somewhat sombrely, then took a deep, determined breath, and picked up the disc. She held it aloft in front of her nose, horizontally, and then muttered, "Leviosa."

She let it go. It dropped to the bed. She frowned.

Picking up the pen, she tried again, more determined. "Leviosa!"

The same thing happened. Picking up the dried flowers, she tried it one last time. "Leviosa? Please?" And, again, they fell straight to the bed.

This was exceedingly worrying. She could accept that the previous night she'd been tired, and it was hampering her powers, but after a long rest and clearing her mind, she should at least have been able to perform a basic hovering spell. It wasn't just that she wasn't having any effect, however – that happened sometimes, even though it was annoying – it was that she couldn't even feel any power within herself any more. There was, quite simply, nothing happening, no matter how hard she willed her magic to flow.

She felt empty, completely drained. Her powers had been her one last connection to Tara, and without them, she was suddenly lost. Lost and useless to the group. She'd promised herself that, once she'd fully recovered, she would only use her magic for helpful, good purposes – location spells, the occasional bit of invisibility, and so on – and now, she couldn't even levitate a feather-light flower.

There didn't appear to be anything she could do, and she didn't really know why it had happened, either. However, brooding about it wouldn't help matters much, and she had to break the news to someone. Despite their argument earlier in the year, she realised the most important person to tell would probably be Giles, so they could figure out if the situation was redeemable before she had to tell the others. If she didn't have to tell them at all, even better. Besides which, he was already trying to get the borrowed magic out of Buffy's system, so maybe he could help get personal magic back inside hers.

She put everything back where it had been, and made her way downstairs.

At the bottom of the staircase, she looked in both directions, trying to find Buffy's ex-Watcher; she couldn't help smiling when she found him. He'd fallen asleep in the dining room with his head on the table, and was snoring quietly. Stifling her laugh, she approached quietly, and tapped him on the shoulder.

Giles snorted ungraciously, and lifted his head a little groggily. His glasses were askew on his head, and he had an imprint on his cheek of the book he'd fallen asleep on. Shaking his head to clear it, he straightened up in his chair, stretched the crick out of his back, then looked at who had woken him. "Willow…"

"Mornin', sleepy-head," she said, smiling, even though she felt far from jovial.

"Remind me not to research-til-I-drop any more. I really don't think it's good for me." She smiled, but it soon disappeared as her thoughts returned to her problem. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah…"

That made sense, he thought. Scooby problems did tend to come in batches. "What is it?"

"I… um…" She tried again. "Uh… last night, while you and Xander were gone, I… I tried to do magic." Before he could reprimand her, she broke in with, "o-only a little, teeny-tiny spell, honest. We couldn't find the control for the TV and I just thought, y'know, I could do a little electric energy spell. I wanted to get some practice in on the small stuff anyway, and I figured it was as good a time as any to start. Anyway… it wouldn't work. I pointed and said the words and" - she made a zipping noise, gesturing with her hand at the same time - "nothing."

"Well," said Giles, "you were all very tired last night."

"Yeah, that's what Anya figured, too." She sighed. "But I tried again this morning and it was still nada. Giles, I… I can't do magic. I can't even feel it inside me any more." She swallowed, a little nervously, not entire sure how he'd react. "It's really scary…"

"Yes, I can imagine it would be… um…" Giles thought for a moment. "Did you… notice anything strange after you'd purged the Dark Magic last night?"

She frowned, slightly annoyed. "I was kinda unconscious… Didn't really notice much of anything."

"Oh, of course. What about when you woke up?"

"I was tired, I guess. And you saw me, Giles, I was pretty woozy all night, even when I was helping you guys. I didn't feel this… empty." She realised where his train of thought was leading. "Oh, you don't think… when I purged?" Giles nodded. They were on the same wavelength, it seemed. Willow shuddered, all of a sudden, which soon turned into shivering as she began rubbing her hands up and down her arms, despite the relative warmth of the house. "God, I feel so violated… it just… ripped it outta me."

Giles was at a loss. He seemed to have spent his entire time since returning to Sunnydale attempting to sort out the problems of the Scoobies, or comforting them in one way or another. Buffy was decidedly easier to comfort in comparison to Anya and Willow – he knew her better, and knew her reactions and mannerisms, and, therefore, when it was safe to offer actions or words. With Anya, it was difficult to read her, and with Willow, he wasn't sure if she was still too fragile. Opting for the safest thing he could think of, he placed a hand on her shoulder, reassuringly.

"Willow, if you can just bear with me a moment, I may have something resembling a plan." She looked at him, hopefully. "You know about Buffy's predicament. That's my top priority at the moment. Which isn't to say," he added, quickly, "that yours isn't just as important. If my plan works, I may be able to help you at the same time."

"Well, what's your plan?"

He debated whether or not to tell her. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her undue worry. But then he realised he'd have to tell the rest of them eventually, and Spike's reaction was bound to be the worst. "The coven who gave me the magic to help you when I came back – I know the leader; she's a friend of mine. She thinks she can help Buffy by gathering the rest of the coven and recalling the magic. If they can do that for her, then it's entirely likely that they can help you, too. The only problem is…"

"Yes? Come on, Giles, it can't be as big a problem as this one…"

"I have to take Buffy to England with me."

Willow blinked, not sure if she'd heard him right. "What?"

"I have to take her to England. Only for a while. They can't work the spell 'overseas', as it were. However, they may be able to tell me how to help you, so…"

She wasn't keen on the idea, but knew she couldn't be the cause of any undue aggravation for Giles, so conceded defeat. "All right, I'll hang in there. And I'll… keep practising, or something."

"Good. Thank you." He stretched again, before getting up and going into the lounge, Willow following him. He sat himself down on the couch, relishing in the comfort it provided by comparison to the dining chair he'd spent the night in. Willow cast a brief glance in the direction of the kitchen, with a smile when she spotted Xander and Anya getting along while they were serving up the omelettes. The lounge fell into a slightly uncomfortable silence.

"So…" ventured Willow, "you're really going to take her to England with you?"

At which point, Xander wandered in. "Breakfast is r- whoa, who's going to England?"

With a defeated sigh, Giles recounted what he'd told Willow to Xander, and then to Anya when she came into the lounge in pursuit of him. Amazingly, Xander didn't object. "Makes sense, I suppose. Do you think she'll agree?"

"In all fairness, Xander, she doesn't really have much choice," he said.

"He's right," said Anya, "but I can almost guarantee that Spike'll have a few words to say about it."

Dawn had been standing in the doorway of her sister's bedroom for quite some time, just watching them. Only once had she ventured cautiously inside, when she noticed that Spike, in his concern, had completely forgotten to draw the curtains and was in danger of being char-grilled any moment. Both the Slayer and vampire were fast asleep, Buffy still unconscious (or so she assumed, anyway) and Spike from sheer exhaustion. He'd been alert enough, however, to put Buffy into her bed properly, covers and everything, and to remove her shoes before doing so. He'd pulled a chair next to the bed to keep a vigil, and his plan had backfired somewhat when he'd fallen asleep himself.

The young brunette smiled. Assuming nobody else came to relieve Spike or woke him up to remove him from the room, he'd be the first person Buffy saw when she woke up. That was just how it was meant to be. She could sense a change between them, somehow; the atmosphere on Spike's return had been somewhat awkward, and when they'd made the plan two nights ago – which seemed an eternity away, in retrospect – they'd barely managed to speak two civil words to each other. That, of course, was hardly anything new, but Dawn could tell there was something wrong. Buffy's tone had been too apologetic, and Spike's _far_ too spiteful. Something had happened between them beforehand, that much was obvious, but nobody seemed to have a clue what.

Whatever, it didn't seem to matter any more. Before Buffy had run off on her almost-suicide mission back at the derelict building site, Dawn had watched her with Spike out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to impose on what was obviously a private moment, but deathly curious just the same. What she'd seen, but not heard, was enough to convince her that their problems were finally over, and, even if they weren't, they'd at least be able to talk them through with no bloodshed and very little heartache. She could only imagine what her sister had said to Spike, though, to cause him to react to her running off the way he did. It had obviously been a catalyst in their recovery, whatever it was.

Her thoughts were interrupted by movement inside the room, as Spike stirred, waking up. He opened his eyes slowly, yawned, and then took in his surroundings, momentarily confused until he saw the comatose Slayer and remembered. Then he saw the closed curtains and looked even more confused – he was sure he'd left them open before he nodded off, although he'd fallen asleep literally a split second after he realised what a bad idea it was. Turning around slightly as he sensed another presence nearby, he finally spotted Dawn standing in the doorway.

He cocked his head at her curiously. "How long have you been there, Bit?"

She shrugged. "Dunno. I just thought, y'know, you were supposed to be watching Buffy, so I'd better watch you. It sorta completes the cycle."

"Protecting me from the Big Bad Xander, eh?"

"Something like that…" she said, smiling. "Although I think he's over that now."

"Yeah, well you can never be too careful." He stretched, trying to shift a kink in his neck. Noticing that Dawn was plainly itching to come out of her place in the door, he indicated with his head that she could enter the room. Gratefully, the brunette straightened from her slouching position and sat down on the edge of the bed, somewhere in the region of Buffy's knees. She looked at her sister blankly for several seconds, not sure what she was even looking for.

"I don't suppose there was any change while you were awake, was there?" she asked.

He shook his head, sadly. "No. Couple of times, I thought she was wakin' up, but… I think it was that bloody Magic in her system. Makin' her muscles all jumpy, it is." He sighed. "I watched her as long as I could, in case I could think of a way to help. I don't know what time I fell asleep, but I know I didn't do it willingly."

Dawn nodded, and a vaguely awkward silence descended on the room as they both watched Buffy, hopelessly. Something had been bugging Dawn for a while, and she'd not yet found the time or the courage to find out about it. Now, as she was alone with Spike and he was more or less unconcerned about Buffy, she decided the time had come to just out and ask him about what was on her mind.

"Spike?"

He tore his eyes from Buffy and met Dawn's gaze. "Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

He raised a dubious eyebrow, then gave her a lopsided smile and attempted something resembling humour. "Of course I'll marry you. Although I don't know how Big Sis'd react to that…"

"No," she admonished him. "Seriously, can I?"

"Go on…"

She took a deep breath. "Okay… um… so, you know this whole… soul… thing… Uh… well… it's just…" Closing her eyes tightly shut, she blurted it out. "Does it hurt?"

She opened her eyes again to see Spike's thoughtful expression as he pondered the simple question. "Well…" he began.

She interrupted him before he could continue. "And don't make it all fluffy and pretty for me. I'm sixteen years old. I can handle it. I just want to know, okay?" As explanation, she added, "I mean, you're all… I don't know… not you… and it's scaring me."

"All right, Nibblet. The truth it is." He paused. "When I first got it, it was agony. I thought the torture'd never end. I got a century's-worth of Bad Things in fifteen seconds, in one blindin' fast-forward… and then, the conscience kicked in. I thought I wasn't going to survive even one more minute of the guilt that came with it… And then, after a few days, it started getting a little better. I started thinking about things… mainly about things I'd done, but even that helped, because it meant all the memories stopped for a while. And then I started thinking about Sunnydale, about you and the Scoobies – even the Whelp – and it became my sort of… constant. A goal… And I thought of Buffy, of course. Couldn't bloody _stop_ thinking about Buffy… About what I'd done." He stopped again, for breath, and to let it all sink in. Off Dawn's urging expression, he continued, "Then, before I knew what was happenin', I was back, right at her feet almost. And I knew we had a lot to talk about – God knows, I didn't think she'd forgive me, but she did. And the longer I stuck around, bein' in contact with everyone, the better it got."

Dawn sniffed, and nodded understandingly. "But does it still hurt? I mean, now?"

He sighed. "A little. Sometimes. If I… think about things. I'm still having nightmares, but I can forget them quickly enough."

"I see…" She looked vaguely guilty. "Isn't there anything we can do to help? Isn't there, like, a vampire soul-medicine or something?"

"If there is, the bloke who invented it's probably sitting on a fortune. Anyway, you _have_ helped, just by being around. You and Buffy, pet; _you've_ been the cure."

Dawn offered him a weak smile. "It's not going to go away, though, is it? I mean, even Angel was broody and he'd had his for years…" Immediately, she regretted making the comparison, but it had slipped out. Luckily, Spike was getting used to it – he'd been anticipating it from the start, in fact – and he instantly disregarded it.

"It's not going to go away, you're right. But at least with you two around, it'll feel like it has." Pause. "All right?"

"Yeah. Thanks…" Silence descended once more, and they resumed watching Buffy. They hadn't been watching for long at all, when suddenly, she moved. Her head turned slightly on the pillow, only a tiny movement, but they both noticed it. Dawn sat bolt upright on the bed, and Spike leaned forwards in his chair. "Was that one of those Magic shock thingies?"

Spike shushed her and waved a silencing hand, concentrating on something. After a few seconds, he broke into a smile. "No… no, she's waking up. Her breathing and heart rate are speeding up. God, she's waking up…" His relief was obvious, and he made no attempt whatsoever to hide it.

Dawn's smile mirrored Spike's and she breathed a sigh of relief as she got up. "I'll go tell the others."

"Don't you want to be here when she comes 'round?" he asked.

"No, I think she'd rather see you."

He smiled gratefully. "All right. Tell the others… but tell them to stay put, and I'll make sure Buffy's fine before she goes _anywhere_. I don't want her being crowded by them all."

She saluted. "Got it." With that, she bounded off down the stairs, leaving Spike to wait not-so-patiently for Buffy to fully wake up.

He took up Dawn's previous place on the edge of the bed and grasped one of the Slayer's hands in his own. A slight shock went down his arm, but he ignored it. She was definitely coming around; it was just a matter of time before she regained consciousness. He muttered all the while. "Come on, love… come on, you can do it. That's it… just wake up, come on… please…"

He lost track of how long he sat there. Dawn had obviously convinced the others to stay put, because nobody appeared at the door, and it was strangely silent downstairs. Although, he had to admit, his hearing was completely attuned to Buffy's heartbeat, and he probably wouldn't have noticed if a bomb had gone off. Finally, to his utter relief, she started moving again; he released her hand, and waited. Her eyes opened, slowly, and for a brief moment, she panicked, obviously remembering the final phase of her ordeal. She sat up, looking around wildly, and began scratching roughly at both of her lower arms – they were looking decidedly red, Spike noted, no doubt from the sheer force with which the Dark Magic had purged from her system, and not helped in the slightest by the remaining magic within her – and then, suddenly, she focussed on him, and everything was calm.

Her scratching stopped straight away, just short of drawing blood by the look of the angry red marks she'd left behind. She stared at him, slightly bemusedly, then took in her surroundings properly, becoming more relieved as she realised where she was. Then, suspiciously, she looked down, even more relieved to discover she was fully clothed, and focussed back on Spike again.

Nothing happened for a good five seconds.

Then, with a cry of relief, she flung her arms around him, unaware of the slight jerk he gave as another shock ran through him. He ignored it, holding her close until she'd calmed down, as she was still incredibly jumpy. Eventually, he said, "Welcome back, love…"

She pulled out of his arms and looked at him, confused. "What happened?"

"You tell me." She frowned, and began scratching at her arms again, less viciously than before. "What do you remember?"

"I… uh…" She struggled for a while, then a light seemed to come on. "Oh, yeah… I finally managed to get that damned magic out of me, and then… I remember being thrown backwards… and then… nothing. Until just now."

"Well, that's good. At least you haven't lost your memory."

She scratched harder, the itch getting worse and making her decidedly tetchier than she should have been. She knew it was wrong to take it out on Spike, but there was nobody else around, and it wasn't as if she couldn't make up for it later – they were still long overdue on a Conversation, and one more apology wouldn't hurt to add to the list, after all. "Cut the crap, Spike. What happened after that?"

"It knocked you out, as you can probably guess. We couldn't wake you, so we just brought you back here. Everyone's downstairs recovering, and the books are back at the Magic Box in a safe place."

"So it worked?"

"It worked," he clarified, smiling. "You did it."

That made her feel slightly better, but the itch soon blackened her mood again. "God, why does everything itch so damn much? My arms feel like they're on fire."

Spike, noticing that she'd finally succeeded in drawing blood, pulled her hands away and kept a hold of them, by now so used to the shocks that he barely noticed them. "That's the other thing. Um…"

"What?"

"Well, you managed to get all the Dark stuff back into the books where it belongs, but… the magic that Giles borrowed from the coven, that Willow took from him, is now still in you."

"Why didn't it just leave with the rest of it?"

"Don't know. Dark Magic didn't want it, I reckon. Anyway, we're still figuring out what to do about that, but that's probably why your arms itch. You purged that magic pretty fast, you know."

"Yeah, and Willow lied. She said it was 'tingly'…" Buffy pouted. It was enough, combined with his relief at her being conscious, to send Spike into a fit of laughter, much to her consternation. "Gee, thanks. Some help you are." Spike's laughter was infectious, however, and she couldn't help but smile.

He stopped, wiping an amused tear from his eye. "Sorry, love. I'm just… I'm just happy to see you awake." Letting go of one of her hands, he reached up to stroke her cheek. He noticed that, for the first time, she leaned into his touch; before, she would have remained stock still, fighting against it. "You had me so worried."

Taking a deep, calming, refreshing breath, she said, "I had me worried for a while, too. It was scary out there for a while. But hey, I did it." Now that everything made slightly more sense, her mood was lightening. "I wish my arms would stop itching, though…"

He let go of her completely and got up. "Do you have any cream or anything?"

"Yeah, I think there's some in the bathroom." The statement came out before she had time to think about it, and she instantly wanted to take it back. His eyes filled with fear and self-loathing almost instantaneously at the mere mention her bathroom. He refused to meet her gaze. It was time to put this particular demon to sleep for good. "Spike…" He mumbled something she didn't catch, which was probably something self-hatey anyway. "It's okay… There's nothing in, outside, around, or to do with that room that can hurt you." Understanding her meaning, he looked at her, the same deep sadness in his features that she'd seen on his return. "I promise…"

He thanked her with a look that said more than he could work out the words for, and, determined, headed for the bathroom. He got in and out of there as quickly as possible, and without looking up until he got to the medicine cabinet, from which he quickly retrieved an antiseptic cream, and got out of there as fast as he could, closing the door behind him. He leaned against it and breathed out, calming himself down. He was not, by any stretch of the imagination, ready to face up to what had happened in there, but at least he'd succeeded in helping Buffy.

He went back into her room and handed her the tube of cream, which she took, gratefully, as he sat back down again, this time in the chair he'd been originally occupying. As she began to apply the antiseptic to her arms, she glanced across at Spike, to make sure he was all right. He looked like he'd fought a war single-handed, and had buried his head in his hands, elbow resting on his knees. "See?" she said, attracting his attention. "You survived."

He looked up. "Yeah. Only just, though…"

"It's okay, Spike. I know it's difficult, but… it'll get easier. Trust me."

"I do," he said, and then another uncomfortable silence fell between them. Something wasn't quite right, Buffy realised. She remembered full well what the last thing she'd said to him was before she ran off to save the world again, and she was pretty damn sure he heard her. In which case, why hadn't he even mentioned it yet? He hadn't even alluded to it in any way whatsoever. Just as she was about to question him about it, she worked out why he hadn't. He wasn't going to push her this time. He wanted to talk it out just as much as she did.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to just reassure it. "Spike?"

"Yes?"

"You remember… that thing I said? Back at the building site?" He nodded, looking terrified she was going to renounce the statement. "I want you to know that… I meant it." He didn't reply, so she added, "I meant it then… and I mean it now… and I'll still mean it tomorrow." He smiled, but continued saying nothing. Under the circumstances, however, she didn't blame him. It was then that she noticed he was watching her intensely. "What?"

Finally, he spoke. "You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now…"

"Well, why aren't you?"

"Because…" he began, then stopped, and instead of explaining, he pointed at her. She looked incredibly confused.

"_Now_ what?"

"Bloody hell, haven't you ever seen the ceiling of the Sistine?" He received a blank stare in response. "All right, fine, _E.T._, then."

"Ohhh," she said, getting it. Copying his gesture, she pointed, and brought her fingertip to his. A very large spark flew before she made contact, causing them both to jerk their hands back again. "Cool!" she said, shaking her hand to rid the pain. "Major 'ow', but… cool…"

"Exactly, and now you see why I'm not…"

"Oh, well…" she said, only mildly disappointed. "But hey, we've got sparks flying. That's gotta be a good sign, right?" She smiled warmly. He smiled back, mutual understanding passing between them for once. This, however, was a conversation that they'd have to continue at a more opportune time.

"You ready to go down and show the others you're okay?"

"Yeah," she said, getting up. "I bet they've been worried, too, huh?"

"Of course, pet. Giles especially. I think he blames himself, a bit."

"He always does when I get hurt."

Their conversation descended into friendly banter as they headed down the stairs, and at the bottom, Buffy was greeted by a row of five worried faces, which slowly changed to relief as her friends saw she was obviously unscathed. Then, she was enveloped in five different hugs, although only briefly, and each one accompanied by an "Ow!" – she could tell being electrified wasn't going to be fun once the novelty wore off.

As a group, they all headed into the lounge, where Xander presented her with a plate of omelettes. "We saved you some breakfast," he said. "Just in case."

"Thanks." She started tucking into it, realising how hungry she was as she did so. "And you guys all owe me a bunch of hugs when I'm back to normal." They laughed nervously, which worried her. "I _am_ going to get back to normal, right? Giles?"

The ex-Watcher avoided her gaze out of habit, sighing wearily. For some reason, it always fell on him to break the news to her. Unfortunately, as he'd discovered, there was no other option. So, preparing himself for an argument, he looked up to face her, wondering exactly how she was going to take the news…

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To be continued…

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A/N: Haha! Sorry about the cliffhanger, but this was starting to write itself out of control. And look! I gave y'all Spuffy! Aren't you proud of me? Anyway, hopefully, the next chapter'll be here soonish as I know pretty much what's happening in it, but until then, keep on reviewing, people! I've beaten 150, and I'm aiming for 200 before this thing is out. You know what to do…


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

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CRADLE

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Disclaimer, etc as on Chapter One

A/N: Okay, so I apologise once more for the cliffhanger. At least there was Spuffy! And there'll be some more in this chapter, too, hopefully, and it'll be angstier… Just how will Buffy and Spike take the news about her having to go to England? Haha, read on and find out :D Also, this chapter sees Spike's acceptance in the group reaching a new level through yet another of those seemingly pointless conversations, a little bit of Giles angst to whet your appetite for more angst later on, and, yes, more Spuffy. Cos I love ya.

P.S: Re: England. I've forgotten quite when this is meant to be set, but let's say it's early October by now, or thereabouts. In which case, if memory serves, England was fairly cold then… Although, Devon being down south and me being in the middle, I'm not exactly the best judge, so. Whatever, it's chilly. And that'll make sense, more or less, when you read the Buffy/Spike conversation in the middle of the chapter.

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Cradle

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Chapter Twenty-Four

Giles composed himself, taking some healthy breaths. For some reason, breaking bad news to people never seemed to get any less difficult. It was quite a while before he met her eyes again. Buffy, beginning to get impatient, repeated her question.

"Giles. Am I going to get back to normal?"

He sighed. Now or never. "Yes… but…"

"But what?"

"I spoke to the leader of the coven, in Devon. Her name is Vivienne. She said she'll be able to help you. The only problem is that she can't help you while you're here… I have to take you to England. It'll only be for a few days, so the coven can reverse the spell and call back the magic, and then you'll be back here."

Buffy shrugged. "That's fine, Giles. So long as it stops this goddamn itching."

"You don't mind?"

"No. I've never been to England. It'll be fun." She grinned. Giles still looked worried, so she looked more serious. "Honestly. I'm okay with it."

"If you're sure-"

"I'm _sure_."

At this point, Spike interrupted. "I'm not…" Everyone looked at him. He addressed Giles. "Do you really think she can fly in this state?"

"I checked that with Vivienne. She's a very experienced witch, and she says there'll be no problems with the flight so long as Buffy is asleep for the entirety of it."

"Well, that's easy," she said, "just pop me some sleeping pills and give me one of your research books and I'll out like a light."

Spike turned to her, concerned. "Pet, we've only just got you back from bein' unconscious. Now you want to be out of it again?"

"I never thought I'd say this," said Xander from the other side of the room, "but I have to agree with Spike on that one…"

"Guys. Chill," she said. "It'll be fine."

"Besides which," said Giles, "there is no other option. Believe me, I've tried to think of one. Vivienne was my final hope, and, thankfully, she's come through for me…"

Willow had been listening, and finally felt it was time to comment. "Look, if Giles thinks it's okay, then it must be, right?" There was a murmur of agreement. "Right… And it's not like Buffy'll be gone for good; it's only going to be a few days."

"She has a point," noted Anya.

Willow nodded gratefully. "We can do all the Slayer-stuff for a while. It's not like we haven't done _that_ before…"

"Thank you, Willow," said Buffy, firmly. Clearly, there was going to be no arguing with her on this one, and eventually the Scoobies had to concede defeat. Spike sighed heavily.

"I'm not going to even pretend to like the idea. But if it's got to…" Suddenly, he had a thought, and let his sentence trail off as he pondered the plausibility of it. "Hey, wait a minute. 'Snot like you lot need me to help with the patrollin' and such, so… Why don't I go with you, Buffy?"

She seemed happy with that idea, and looked to Giles to confirm it. He didn't seem impressed by the idea, to say the least, and explained, grimly: "I'm afraid that's not an option…" Before either Spike or Buffy could take that the wrong way, he added, "It's nothing personal. The flight leaves in the morning. It's physically impossible for a vampire to travel that far by air, and not just because of this particular flight. Even if I were to rebook it – which, by the way, is going to be difficult on such short notice – there's still no guarantee we'll arrive after dark."

"You're right…" sighed Buffy. "Geez, how do you cope with these time zones, Giles?"

"Practice," he said, smiling slightly.

"Well, it looks like I have to pack… I take it we're leaving soon?"

He nodded. "Tomorrow morning. I know it's incredibly short notice, but the sooner we get that magic out of you, the better."

"You'll get no arguments from me on that one."

It was becoming exceedingly obvious that Buffy and Giles were going to win the argument about her going to England, so, eventually, everyone conceded defeat. Everyone except Spike, of course, who was holding his own silent (and unsuccessful) protest against the matter. The room had fallen into silence at this point, nobody exactly sure what to say next. Buffy was going to England, and that was that. She had no other options. It was far more practical to take Buffy to England than it was to fly an entire coven to Sunnydale.

It was Xander who broke through the silence, realising that they ought to leave Spike alone with the other two to at least try and talk it through. "Okay, guys, let's go… wash up. Come on, An, you can be Head Scrubber."

"Huh?" she said, her attention focussed on the change she could sense between Buffy and Spike. Then she caught his 'let's-let-them-talk' expression. "Oh, right…"

"Yeah, I'll… dry," added Willow, nudging Dawn as she walked past her.

"And I'll put away," said the brunette, as the four of them filed into the kitchen quietly. General washing-up-type noises started in the kitchen, which meant that they either _were_ washing up, or were listening in and _pretending_ to wash up, but either way, the three remaining in the lounge didn't seem to mind. Buffy had positioned herself on the couch for the duration of the almost-argument, and, getting up, she started to head towards the stairs again.

"Well, I guess I'd better pack. What time's the flight?"

"Seven," said Giles. "You need to be up by four-thirty at the latest."

"Ouch…" she muttered. "Okay, get someone to wake me up."

Giles smiled. "I'm sure we'll think of something."

With that, Buffy smiled and disappeared upstairs once more. Spike had been silent for a while, but Giles could tell he was biting his tongue, and he was grateful that he hadn't made a scene while Buffy was around. The worry was plainly obvious on his face. After a while, though, apparently giving up on the scene entirely, he began to follow Buffy. Before he could get very far, however, Giles cleared his throat.

"Spike…"

The vampire stopped, and faced him. "Yes?"

"I know you're concerned for her well-being. We all are." Spike seemed to wonder what he was getting at, so he changed direction slightly. "I may have been rather harsh to you in the past, but… these last few days, you've proven yourself to all of us, especially Buffy."

Spike wanted to put his hands in his pockets, to fight the overwhelming urge to fidget. Unfortunately, his duster was still upstairs in Buffy's room, and his jeans didn't achieve the desired effect of nonchalance that he was looking for. Instead, he stared diligently at the floor. "Yeah. Well, I had to do something. I love her… I needed to prove that."

"You have," said the ex-Watcher. "We can all see that you do, now. Even Xander, believe it or not – and, although he hasn't forgiven you, exactly, I think he's beginning to understand."

"That's good to know," he muttered. He was beginning to feel decidedly awkward, and was still staring steadfastly at the carpet. Giles, also feeling awkward, still had a few things to say, however.

"She… um… she loves you." His statement was partially a query as to whether Spike knew this, although he was sure he did. At this point, Spike looked up again, the barest flicker of a smile on his face.

"Yeah, she does." Then, just to prove he hadn't gone _completely _soft, he added, "It took her bloody long enough to realise."

Giles laughed. "Yes…" He cleared his throat again, killing for time. Then, rather too nonchalantly, he added, "I want you to know that you have my blessing… Not that it's my place to say so."

"It's as much your place as anyone's. You're like family to her. And thanks. That means a lot." A slightly more amicable silence passed between them. "I think I'll go and help her pack," he said.

"Yes. Oh, and Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll look after her. I promise."

The irony wasn't lost on him. Usually, it was Spike promising that to Giles, not vice versa. "I know…"

On that more positive note, Spike headed upstairs. He wanted to talk to Buffy. He knew he couldn't talk her out of it – it was pointless, really, because there was no other option – but he wanted to at least make sure she really _was_ fine with it, and not just putting on a façade for the others. Aside from that, he'd only just gotten her back from being unconscious, and he wanted to spend at least a little time with her before she went gallivanting off to England for however long it took.

Alone in the lounge, with the noises of the other Scoobies still laughing as they did the washing up in the kitchen, Giles sat down, and fumbled in his inside pocket for the plane tickets. Taking them out of the envelope, his pre-flight paranoia already kicking in, he checked that they were all present and correct. Yes. In his hand were three tickets. An open return flight for Buffy, depending on how long the process detained her, and a one-way, no-going-back ticket for himself.

What Giles had neglected to tell anyone was that he wasn't going to be coming back from England with Buffy. He'd been too cowardly to tell them. He'd left them twice that year, and doubted they'd forgive him for doing so a third time. The goodbyes got harder every time. After Buffy's death, their "as-if-we'd-make-a-scene" scene at the airport had almost made him want to stay, and he couldn't have that happening, not this time.

He'd never got to say goodbye to Buffy, either time he'd left. The first time, she wasn't even there. Then, the second time, she'd been too angry to even see him before the flight, feeling hurt and betrayed that he was leaving her at a time when, in her opinion, she needed him the most. In fact, only Xander and Anya had been there at the airport, and the latter could hardly look at him due to the embarrassment she felt after the kiss they'd mistakenly shared under Willow's spell. Willow had been too wrapped up in trying to save her relationship with Tara to think of anything else; Tara, likewise, was doing her own leaving, and she, at least, understood why his departure was the best thing for everyone. And Dawn… Dawn had no way of getting to the airport, because Buffy had been wallowing in self-pity and "bad kissing decisions" at the Bronze.

So, Buffy would be the only one he got to say goodbye to, this time. That was how he wanted it. He knew it was going to be painful, and she wouldn't be happy about it… but he wasn't prepared to keep on bailing everyone out when they got themselves into minor trouble. Apocalypses, fine, then he was perfectly willing to help in any way he could. But he couldn't always be there to help them through their lives; they had to do that themselves. He'd been a catalyst for them while he'd been around, but now it was up to each and every one of the Scoobies to carry on off their own bat.

And Buffy would hate him forever for making her be the one to explain it all to them when she got back, but she'd get over it. He almost hated to admit it, but now she had Spike around, she needed him less.

"Hey, G-man, whatcha doin'?" Xander's voice cut through his thoughts, and he hastily stuffed the tickets back into their envelope, and into his pocket again.

"Just checking on the tickets. You know, pre-flight nerves and all that."

He nodded, as the others came out of the kitchen, chattering amongst themselves. Anya was drying her hands on a tea-towel as she talked to Willow, and Dawn wiped her hands on the front of her jeans. Giles watched them as Xander took a seat next to him and searched for the (still broken) remote control for the television, and he suddenly realised they'd be absolutely fine without him. He'd managed to reunite Anya with the rest of the group, and she was steadily on her way to a recovering relationship with Xander, although they had a long way to go; Dawn would probably continue to train as a Slayer with Buffy and Spike's help; Willow, aside from her current lack of magic, was far better than she had been; and Xander had matured, he noticed, after the fight with Spike. Their conversation in the car had proven that much. _They're all going to be fine. Everything's going to be all right…_

Xander clicked the remote a few times, each time pressing harder, but nothing happened. "Dawnster! While you're over there, turn on the TV, would you?"

She rolled her eyes, but obliged anyway. "What am I, your servant now?"

"Oh, ignore him," said Anya. "He just thinks he's superior because he's male." To Giles, she added, "No offence…"

He smiled to indicate none was taken, and shuffled down the couch to make room for her and Willow, while Dawn, rather perturbed, sat herself on the floor at the latter's feet. They sat and watched the seemingly endless commercials for a while until the show started, at which point, Xander groaned.

"_Mork and Mindy??_ Do we _have_ to watch this?"

"Yeah," said Dawn, "unless _you_ wanna get up and change the channel…"

He muttered something that caused Anya to giggle, but that nobody else heard, and they conceded to watch the programme. At the far end of the couch, Giles smiled to himself, suddenly feeling a lot better about leaving them. All he had to deal with now, was how to break the news to Buffy once they got to England…

Buffy's door was half-open as Spike reached the top of the stairs. There were various thumps emanating from within the room as she searched for things, and he approached somewhat cautiously in case he got caught in the crossfire. Peering into the room, he could see clothes strewn about the place, both wardrobe doors wide open, and a half-empty suitcase, into which a few things had been haphazardly flung. A small overnight bag also sat next to it, half of its contents tipped onto the bed. Buffy wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Carefully, he knocked on the door. "Buffy?"

"Come in…" she said, from somewhere within. He pushed the door open fully and entered, just as she re-emerged from the wardrobe with her arms full of clothing. She looked at him. "Hey, you're the expert. How cold is it in England, anyway? I mean, are we talking hats and scarves, or will I be okay with a sweater?"

He laughed. "It's been a fair few decades since I could tell you, pet. Take layers…"

"Right, layers it is." So saying, she dumped the pile onto the bed along with everything else and began sorting through it with the ease of one who regularly makes order out of chaos. "God, I wish I knew how long this was going to take…"

"Same here…"

Apparently unaware of the worry in his tone, she continued, "I'll just pack enough for a week and live with it…"

Spike watched her in silence as she sorted the clothes into the suitcase, then made himself useful by attempting to put away the things in the pile she'd deemed 'unsuitable for England'. This in itself proved to be fairly tricky as he had no idea where anything she owned actually went, and he was constantly asking questions. It registered that she didn't seem to mind the fact that he was rooting around in her wardrobe, but he didn't mention it. Several minutes later, she'd finished packing the case, with far too many for any normal person to be able to close it again afterwards, and put the overnight bag in the middle, thus making the load even bigger. Using her Slayer strength, she clipped it shut with no difficulty, and hauled it onto the floor by the door, ready for the morning.

Looking around afterwards, prepared to put everything away that she'd left out, she seemed almost surprised to find nothing there. She'd only been half-paying attention to Spike, despite giving instructions. "Oh… Thanks, Spike…"

"No problem," he said, although he _had_ got a problem. This time, however, now her attention wasn't entirely focussed elsewhere, she detected the façade he was putting on.

"You're really not okay with this, are you?"

He shook his head, kicking at a stain on her carpet with the toe of his boot. "Not really, no." With a heavy, defeated sigh, he continued, "I mean, I know it's the only option. It's just…"

"You don't want me to go now you've just got me back?"

"Exactly…"

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "Spike, sit down a minute…" He looked up to see her indicating for him to take his seat in the chair again, and he obliged, a little curiously. Once he was seated, she sat on the edge of the bed, opposite him, looking serious. She took a deep breath. "We need to talk. I think you know that."

"Yeah. I wish we didn't have to, though."

"Me, neither… but… if we're going to make anything work between us, we've got to put everything behind us. And the only way to do that is to talk about it."

"Now?"

"No. That's my point." She reached out to take his hands, and pulled back again instantly with a curse as the sparks crackled between them. Pulling her long sleeves down to cover her hands, she tried again. "See? How can I talk to you if that's going to happen every time I touch you?"

"I suppose you're right, love… I want that stuff out of you about as much as you do, it's just… you're going so soon. And God knows how long you're gonna be away."

"Well, we've got…" She checked her watch – it was early afternoon. "We've got at least ten hours, maybe more, depending on how much sleep I wanna get before this flight. In fact, I may as well just stay up all night."

"As tempting as spending ten hours with you sounds," he said, "you should spend it with your friends."

"Yeah…" she agreed. "But there's no reason you shouldn't join me, right?"

He beamed at her. "You're sure they won't mind?"

"I'm pretty sure they won't. Besides, you should spend some more time with Dawn. And anyway, if they object, they'll have to answer to me."

Spike was lost for words. He'd been accepted by three people in the same twenty-four hours – first Xander, although indirectly, then Giles, and finally, by Buffy, to spend time with her friends. Things were definitely looking up. Shaking his head at his sudden good luck, he tried to kiss her, but was stopped by her sleeve-covered hand on his mouth.

"Still high-voltage Buffy, remember?"

She got up and started to head downstairs, taking the packed case with her. After a thoughtful pause, Spike followed her. At least if he started as he intended to go on, by making friends – proper friends, not just acquaintances that he was refraining from eating – with the gang, then maybe Buffy's absence wouldn't be so difficult after all. At least he'd have someone to talk to in the form of Dawn, at the very least. Maybe even Willow, after the conversation they'd had after the fight. And perhaps he could even hold a civil conversation with the Whe… with Xander, for Buffy's sake if no-one else's.

Listening to the chattering, laughing voices in the lounge, he suddenly realised it might not even be as difficult as he'd anticipated…

__

Next morning, 4.45am…

"Where the Hell did I put my case?!"

"It's by the front door, love, where you left it yesterday…"

Buffy had been frantically running around trying to sort out non-existent problems, which had somehow miraculously manifested themselves overnight. The Scoobies were all standing in the lounge watching her as she ran about the ground floor, and Spike was following her around in an attempt to calm her down. As he didn't seem to mind, they left him to it, watching the entire scene with some amusement. They would have slept through it, had Buffy's frantic running about not woken them all up.

She ran into the kitchen and flung open the fridge, pulling out some cellophane-wrapped sandwiches before closing it again and running back into the hallway, stuffing them into a rucksack. Then, after a second's thought, she ran back in there again and grabbed two drinks cans, running past Spike going in the opposite direction. She stopped, finally, and did a mental count of everything she needed to take. As an afterthought, she headed to the weapons chest and grabbed a stake.

"Planning on doing some Slaying, are we?"

She shrugged. "You never know what might happen…" As she stuffed it down the side of the rucksack, Giles nonchalantly came down the stairs, picked up her case (on the second attempt, with a grunt), and went out to put it in the car. Buffy looked up to find it gone and panicked again. "_Now_ where's it gone?"

Giles came back in. "Buffy, calm down… It's in the car."

She settled down slightly, taking a deep, calming breath to put her nerves at ease. "Sorry, I'm just… I want to make sure everything's fine before I leave."

"I know," said the older man. "But there's no need to panic. I'm sure Spike will make sure everything's kept in order."

"Uh, yeah," he said, surprised by the vote of confidence. "No nasties are going to get in, trust me."

"And patrolling-"

"Will be taken care of. Stop worrying…"

There was momentary silence after the previous activity, then, suddenly, she left out a "Dammit!" and started running up the stairs. Spike ran after her and caught up with her halfway, forcibly dragging her back downstairs again.

"What now?"

"I forgot to pack a jacket…"

He sighed heavily. "Bloody hell… All right, fine, wait there and I'll get one. You're too flustered to think straight."

"Thanks…" While he went upstairs, she started calming herself down again and headed into the lounge to say goodbye to her friends. "Okay, I guess this is it… I wish I could hug you, but, y'know…"

"It's okay," said Willow, "we'll save them all for when you're back, all healthy and non-electric."

"I'll try not to be too long, guys, I promise. Just, uh, try not to get killed or start a war or anything…"

"Buff, chill." That was Xander. "It's not like we haven't worked without you before."

"Yeah," said Anya. "We'll be fine."

Buffy smiled at them all by way of thanks, and turned as she heard Spike coming down the stairs again. He had retrieved and was wearing his duster, but had apparently failed in his attempt to find her a jacket.

"Um, I thought you were getting me a jacket."

"I have," he said, cryptically. "Well, more of a coat, really…" So saying, he met her halfway out of the lounge and removed the duster. "Here." He held it out, and, a little shocked, she turned so he could help her into it. It was miles too big; the sleeves completely covered her hands and it touched the floor, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Wow… are you sure?"

"Yes. It's warmer than those pathetic denim things of yours, and… I thought… it might remind you of me… or something…"

She moved as if to hug him and then simultaneously remembered that she couldn't and shrugged instead. "Thank you…"

"Yeah, well, just be careful with it…" he said, mock-defensively. Then, quieter, he added, "And be careful with yourself…"

"I will." There was a moment of silence between them where they merely stared at each other with mutual understanding. Giles didn't want to disturb the moment, but, seeing that they were going to be late if they didn't hurry, he had very little choice.

He cleared his throat. "Buffy. We need to go."

"Okay." Tearing her gaze from Spike's, she picked up her over-stuffed rucksack and followed Giles out to the waiting car. She took one last look around and shouted "'Bye, guys!" to the general direction of the lounge. She was answered by varying "See ya, Buffy"s and "Good luck!"s from the assembled Scoobies. "'Bye, Spike…"

"'Bye, pet."

Smiling, she turned and left the house, allowing Spike to close the door after her as she hurled her rucksack into the back seat of the car and prepared to get in. Giles, ever the gentleman, held open the door for her and waited for her to get in. Just as she was about to, Spike called after her, not venturing out for fear of the early morning sunlight, but hovering in the doorway.

"Buffy?"

"Yeah?"

He hesitated, as if he'd been going to say something incredibly long-winded and had suddenly changed his mind. Instead, he simply smiled, and said, "I love you."

He wasn't anticipating a reply, or even that she'd say it back, because he knew she still needed time, even after already telling him. And if her promise the night before that she'd meant it still held true, then, for now, he didn't need her to say it back. He just felt the need to tell her anyway, just so she knew.

"I know," she said. Then, getting into the car as Giles shut the door after her, she rolled down the window and stuck her head out. "A-and you know I…"

He didn't wait for her to struggle with it. "Yeah, I know…"

Giles got in, and started the car. Fighting down her sudden feeling that she didn't want to go after all, Buffy waved from the car window, as her other friends joined Spike in the doorway and out on the porch. They all waved and shouted words of farewell as the car pulled off the driveway and onto the road, and disappeared from view as it turned the corner. Shrugging defeatedly, and hoping for the best, everyone started to file back inside, and set about something resembling a normal routine.

Approximately two hours later, at seven o'clock, Spike was up in Buffy's room, staring out of her window, with a blanket over his head to protect from the sunlight pouring into the room. The familiar white streak of an aeroplane engine moved slowly across the pale blue sky, and he sighed. He only became aware of the other presence in the room when a hand landed firmly on his shoulder.

"How's it going, Broody the Second?" Xander stood next to him at the window, watching the same patch of sky. "Well… there she goes. Off to good ol' England.

"Yeah," he muttered, not really wanting company, but trying to be civil nonetheless.

Xander could tell he wasn't wanted, and didn't push his luck. In truth, he'd been sent up by Willow, whose tone had been too authoritative for him to refuse, who wanted to make sure Spike was okay. Other than looking slightly sunburnt, however, he obviously wasn't in immediate danger of damaging himself, and seemed to only be moping. "Okay, just checking… We're, uh, gonna start formulating a patrol rota in a few minutes, if you wanna help out."

Spike eyed him curiously, but didn't ask questions. "Right. Yeah… I'll be down in a minute."

Xander patted his shoulder somewhat awkwardly, and vacated the room. Spike watched the plane's path a little longer until the plane itself became a tiny white dot and finally disappeared, then he rolled his eyes at himself, and followed Xander down the stairs, bundling the blanket into a messy ball as he went. If he was going to make friends, he'd better start now. And in any case, it was better than brooding like Peaches until Buffy came home again…

__

To be continued…

****

A/N: Okay, not such an evil cliffhanger this time. And I gave you Spuffy! Yay! And I apologise for the, according to my not-a-beta and partner in crime, Cyril, "unexpected and mean thing with Giles", but there's a purpose, I promise… Keep those reviews coming! I need 40 more to reach my new target of 200, and it's all up to you lovely people :)


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

**CRADLE**

_Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter._

A/N: Several things happen in this chapter. There's a whole bunch of Giles angst for you (incidentally, I was going to have Buffy going comatose again because of her sleeping drugs, but decided against it. There's a limit to angst, y'know :D) and my rather rambling attempt to explain exactly how I'm a B/G shipper. But don't panic, there's nothing smoochy or slushy. Just Giles angst. For some reason, I also decided it would be a wonderful idea to have Spike and Anya have a little chat about That Thing from "Entropy", because they (and I) have been avoiding it for too long. No Spuffy except in passing through Spike's wallowing, but I'll get on that soon enough :)

Second note of the evening - something I've been considering, re: Spike's banter. He calls Buffy all number of things, like "pet", "Slayer", etc. And also, of course, "love". In this, I have him called Anya "luv", and I spelt it that way for a reason… Buffy is "love" because he loves her; Anya (and anything else female he might use it for) is "luv", because it's colloquial and Spike-y, but not serious. I'm pretty sure the vocal intonations were different on the show, too, but if not, you can imagine them for yourself… Anyway, I just thought I'd explain it…

Also, remember that special guest waaaay back in chapter 13? Well, she might just make a re-appearance *grins* but I'm not sure if that's going to be this chapter or the next, so bear with me…

Chapter Twenty-Five 

Several thousand feet up, Giles was multi-tasking. On the pull-down table/tray in front of him lay a small pad of paper, a half-drunk paper cup of coffee, a pen, and several screwed up balls of paper with various scribblings on them. And on the top of the pad, a half-crossed out correspondence marked his increasing frustration with his complete inability to find the right words to say everything he wanted. After seventeen attempts, he was beginning to think it wasn't such a good idea after all. While he was trying to think what to say, once more, he was also keeping one eye on the sleeping Slayer in the seat next to him, in case she stirred and he needed to re-inject her with the sleeping drug they'd used. (They'd had to pretend, and insist, quite vehemently, that she was incredibly phobic of flying, and that the hypodermic was, indeed, a necessity if she wasn't to have a panic attack mid-flight. With a little help from Buffy herself, who had been very convincingly terrified at the mere sight of the planes outside, they'd gotten away with it.) For the moment, however, she seemed to be deeply asleep, still. 

He tore off the top piece of paper again and screwed it up, then, realising his writing surface was becoming crowded, he gestured for one of the wandering stewardesses and politely asked if she would mind bringing over something he could use as a bin bag. She obliged with a nod and made her way down to the staff area at the front of the plane. Giles pushed the pile of paper balls towards the edge of the table, took another drink of his rapidly congealing coffee, and tapped the pen irritably on the pad for a few seconds. 

He wrote what he'd written myriad times before already - "_Dear all…_" - and then chewed on the end of the pen, thoughtfully. The stewardess came back with a plastic carrier bag emblazoned with the airline's logo. Just as she was about to scrape all the paper balls into it, he was struck with a thought, and hastily unscrewed them, searching for one specific draft. When he'd found it, he tipped the others into the bag and thanked her, smoothing it out. 

This was getting ridiculous. They were four hours into an eleven-hour flight, and, much as he wanted to sleep, he couldn't. He put the pen down and stared at his "_Dear all…_" until the words started to blur, then hastily removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. 

Buffy shifted slightly, curling her feet further under her in the seat, and causing Spike's duster - currently serving as a blanket despite the fact that the airline issue ones were perfectly adequate - to fall to the floor. Glad of the distraction for the moment, he retrieved it and laid it back over her. For some reason, she'd insisted on having the window seat, for all the good it would do her. She hadn't even fallen asleep facing the window; rather, she was facing him. 

He smiled down at her, reaching over to smooth a stray hair away from her face. He got shocked, as expected, but only slightly, like static. It didn't bother him, and, once one got used to it, it wasn't too bad. Lightly, he traced her jaw-line with his knuckle before removing his hand entirely. It was finally sinking in that, once the coven completed their spell to recall the magic, he probably wouldn't see her again for a very long time. Leaving the others got easier, each time, just as he was sure his departure got easier on them, too. If he could just get the damned note written, to explain, it would help them understand, and save Buffy the pain of having to tell them his reasoning. 

Exponentially, the easier it got with them, the more impossibly, heart-wrenchingly difficult it got with Buffy. He was dreading the moment he'd have to tell her. He could picture it now - her look of pained curiosity, the confused frown, her changing expressions as she tried to decide between anger, disappointment, hurt, and nonchalant disinterest, before finally settling somewhere in the region of shocked annoyance. And that would be just before the tears came. His chest constricted even now to think about it. 

The passengers on the plane assumed they were father and daughter, or perhaps uncle and niece. There'd been suspicious glances at check-in at the differing surnames on the tickets, but everybody was too politely professional to question it. Sometimes, Giles did wonder what people thought of them, but never for any long period of time. After all, what did it matter? 

They hadn't been Slayer and Watcher for a very long time. They'd even gone beyond the substitute father/daughter bond that had developed over the years. As for what they'd become? He had no idea, and he doubted Buffy did, either. A little of everything, he suspected. The sacred duty remained, and the bond that came with it, never to be broken even by the Council's rash decisions; the respect (well, most of the time, when she wasn't being so damnably stubborn and headstrong) was the same as ever; they were friends, as they always had been. He was still the "grown-up friend", as Willow had once put it, the one with all the answers. 

And above and beyond it all, damning himself all the while for feeling it, he loved her. Not like Spike did, not like the Scoobies did, but in his own way, that he doubted he could ever explain even if he wanted to. He loved her, over-protectively, like a parent; he loved her, for all her faults and weaknesses, as a friend who knew her; he loved her, for her strength and spirit, like a Watcher who'd strayed from the sacred path of platonic respect. He'd loved her, even when she was Angel's to love; he would love her still, even when she was Spike's (although he doubted she ever would be, and that they would be each other's. The day she admitted that she belonged to Spike would be the day she finally gave up completely.) He loved her now, as she lay asleep in the seat of an aeroplane, with her head edging ever closer to his shoulder, because, even in her sleep, she knew he wouldn't mind… 

…and he wasn't going to tell her. If he did, it would likely blow her entire universe completely out of proportion. He knew she loved him - she'd told him so, once, to reassure herself - and he had a feeling she knew he did, too… but she could never know the truth. She'd spent two years dealing with Spike's feelings in one way or another, and he didn't want to add himself to her mixed emotions. That wouldn't be the right thing to do, not when she had her own life to sort out with the blond vampire, who, it was obvious, was determined to make her happy. She'd only just figured out her own feelings about him. No. Knowing that Giles adored her more than life itself wouldn't help matters in the slightest. 

He tore his gaze from the Slayer and sighed a heavy, determined-to-focus-on-something-else sigh. The only other thing in his immediate line of vision was the two heavily scrawled words at the top of his pad. "_Dear all…_" Suddenly, that didn't seem right, either, and he drew a single, straight line through it, and began anew. 

"_Dear friends…_"   
  


_Sunnydale…_   
  


The Scoobies and Spike were huddled around the dining room table, Willow at the head of it taking notes. Or, at least, she was trying to, over the thrum of voices all around her as the rest of them debated. She was beginning to wish she could perform a little silencing spell, until she remembered she couldn't do _anything_, and then, she realised that her magic was what had caused the whole mess in the first place. Maybe being without it would be a good thing after all. It wasn't as if she couldn't learn to live without it. 

The banter was friendly, but somewhat forced. All of them were arguing, and although it was supposed to be friendly debating, it obviously had an air of tension that felt like it was going to snap at any moment. Without Buffy or Giles around, everyone was clearly trying too hard to get along, especially, it seemed, in the case of Anya. And Spike had promised himself he was going to get along with everyone. He had no problems with Dawn - she'd forgiven him, and, after their talk, was seeming much less overprotective - nor with Willow since their little heart-to-heart. But there was still some negative air between himself and Xander, which, no matter how politely they spoke to each other, was going to take a while to get over. He was also overdue on a healthy talk with Anya, to clear the air about their mistaken night of passion in the Magic Box, and he was partially glad the place wasn't rebuilt yet, so as not to stir up memories. 

As it was, that possibility was seeming a long way off, as he was currently involved in a completely pointless and loud argument with the entire table of Scoobies. Finally, as the noise got too much, Willow banged on the table. "Stop!!" The noise ceased, and everyone looked at her with various questioning expressions. "That's better. Now. What was the decision?" 

Xander spoke up. "Well, I have to stay here tonight, at least. Gotta fix the couch and the coffee table. And I say Spike should stay here and help me." 

"Don't be an idiot, Harris," he said, although the words didn't hold as much venom as they used to. "I need to patrol every night. Willow's still recoverin', Anya can't handle everything on her own, and Dawn's… well, Dawn." The accused glared at him. He gave her a smirk and a quick wink, just to prove he was kidding, but she still didn't look very impressed. 

"I know that. But you helped cause this mess." 

"Last time I checked it was _your_ head print on the sofa cushions." 

"All right, guys, enough," said Willow. "I know this is going to be difficult without Buffy _or_Giles, but… look, we have to figure something out, okay?" She stared at her paper, upon which was a timetable was neatly drawn, covering a span of three weeks. They'd worked out that was probably the longest Buffy was going to be gone. "Xander, how long will it take to fix the couch and the table?" 

He thought about it, casting a brief glance to the lounge. "Two nights, probably-" 

"Okay. You sort that." 

"Two nights, _with help_, Will. It's a big job." 

"Fine. But not Spike. We need him for patrol." 

Xander sighed irritatedly. "Fine… I guess I can get someone from work to help me out." 

"Good," said Willow, nodding. She was beginning to like being the boss again. "That just leaves the rest of us. We'll pair off and take alternate nights. Spike, you and Anya can go tonight, and me and Dawn'll go tomorrow." 

Spike seemed rather worried about that. "Why Anya?" She frowned at him. "No offence, demon-girl, but…" He floundered for a moment, then looked somewhat helplessly at Willow and gestured to Xander with his head, who was jotting down measurements on a piece of paper in preparation for his repairs. The red head understood his connotations, luckily, and quickly explained. 

"Because we're not only Slayer and Giles-less, but also decidedly magic-less. We're going to have to actually _fight_ the nasties out there, not just whoop their asses with confusion spells." 

"So?" 

"So you're a fighter. So's Dawn. So I take Dawn, and you take Anya, and then at least she and I won't end up getting dead." 

Anya, who had been considerably quiet throughout, finally spoke up. "Willow makes a valid point." Then, possibly too nonchalanty, she turned to Spike and added, "I promise not to have sex with you." 

He raised an eyebrow. "Thanks… I think…" 

Dawn wrinkled her nose. "Okay, _bad_ mental images here…" Shaking off the image with a shudder, she continued. "But, ooh, I have a question." 

"Yes, Dawnie?" 

"Who does Xander get to work with when he's finished fixin' stuff?" 

Willow thought about it for a moment, and came up completely stumped. Until Spike suddenly had the same idea as Dawn, simultaneously, and they both said, "Clem, of course!" 

Xander looked up from his paper. "What? Clem? What?" 

Willow wrote it down on her rota in the slot for the third day's patrolling, muttering as she did so. "Third… night… Xander… and… C-l-e-m." She nodded and recapped the pen. "Great, so we're sorted." 

"If I'm working with Clem, that makes me the fighter, doesn't it?" he asked, sceptically. Everyone nodded. "Don't know if you've all noticed, but I have a tendency to lose and/or be rendered unconscious on a semi-regular basis." 

Anya shrugged. "That was before. You managed to win the fight with Spike." 

"Hey!" That was the vampire. 

"Sorry, but it's true." 

"Only because he surprised me…" he muttered. 

Willow intervened once more. "Enough with the righteous indignation, Spike! Anya, stop it. You two have to patrol together, so just learn to get along, okay?" 

Anya sulked, as did Spike, and Dawn was beginning to think maybe working with Willow wouldn't be so bad after all. Xander conceded defeat. Patrolling with Clem probably might not be that horrendous. At least he could hold a conversation. Attempting to lighten the atmosphere again, he said, "Gee, Will. Maybe we should throw you another 'Boss of Us' party." 

"Oh! That's it!" she suddenly shouted, pulling out another piece of paper from underneath her patrolling rota. "Party!" Off the collection of "huh?" gazes staring back at her, she elaborated: "For Buffy and Giles, for when they're back. I thought we could surprise them." 

"Oh, great idea, Willow!" said Dawn. "We can give her a huggy ambush." She grinned widely, already planning on where to stand for this idea. 

"That's really sweet, Will. She'll love it." 

So, she had both Xander's and Dawn's vehement votes of confidence on the matter, and a brief nod from Anya, but nothing from the vampire. "What about you, Spike? Don't you wanna surprise Buffy, too?" 

"Uh… no, count me out, Red. I think I've surprised her enough already these past few weeks, don't you?" 

"Ah… I guess so. But… you'll still be here, right?" 

"Of course. I'm not missing her coming back for anything." 

"Great. Well… it's nearly dark, so you and Anya'd better get going. Dawn and I'll start planning for this party. Xander, you wanna call your buddy?" 

Rolling their eyes in a mutual gesture of despair at Willow's bossiness, everyone headed off in their respective directions, Xander to the telephone, and Spike and Anya towards the front door. Willow and Dawn went into the kitchen to get some snacks for their party preparation. It was going to be a very long few days - or weeks - until Buffy and Giles came back…   
  


_Cemetery, one hour later…_   
  


One blond vampire and one slightly less blonde vengeance demon were ambling between the headstones, the latter tossing her stake like a baton to ease the tedium, and the former feeling very vulnerable and non-Big-Bad without his favourite coat. Or, in fact, without his only coat. He wanted to put his hands in his pockets, and couldn't, so ended up fidgeting; he wanted to have a cigarette, but they were halfway to England by now because he'd forgotten to retrieve them from the duster before he gave it to Buffy; moreover, although he wasn't entirely averse to Anya's presence, he would much rather have been wandering through the cemetery with his Slayer, or even her sister. 

However, now that Anya was here, and it was obviously going to be a quiet night - clearly, the vamps were all still nervous after the various encounters with the magic - he could have the talk he'd been intending to have with her. In a sense, they were equals and opposites at once. They were both trying to sort out relationships, and they'd both changed considerably in the process, only she'd gained her demon-ness, and he'd gained a soul. They'd barely spoken two words to each other since his return, purely to make life easier, but if he was going to try and be one of the Scoobies, he supposed he ought to clear the air with her. Considering the last time they'd talked hadn't ended _precisely_ how he'd anticipated, it was proving tricky to even start the conversation without the presence of copious alcohol. Luckily, an opportunity arose when she tossed the stake in the air far too high, and dropped it. 

She stooped to retrieve it, and then he said, with an impatient sigh, "Either catch it every time, or don't bloody do it at all. Just because I've got a soul doesn't mean I'm immune to accidentally flung stakes, you know." 

She looked a little sheepish. "Sorry…" She put the stake into her coat pocket, making Spike feel even less be-dustered than before. "I'm just so gosh darn bored!" She was clearly putting on an overly cheerful front, but something was bothering her and even Spike could tell. 

He cleared his throat. _Might as well just go for it_, he thought. "Is… um… is something wrong?" 

"No. Nothing's wrong. Why should something be wrong?" 

"Let's see. Repetitive over-exaggeration of nothing being wrong. I'd say there's something wrong…" 

"All right. Fine." She stopped where she was. "I suppose I can tell you. But only if you'll tell me what the heck is going on with you and Buffy. One minute you're up, the next you're down… it's enough to drive a girl insane." 

He laughed. "I'll try my best, but I'm not entirely sure myself…" He perched on a headstone, wished for a cigarette for the second time in as many minutes, and gestured for her to sit as well. Anya inspected it for grime and then leaned against it, making herself as comfortable as it was possible to. After a moment's silent thought, she started. 

"It's just… this… this thing with me and Xander… I mean… we were making progress. I'd stopped wanting his organs to rot, and he'd stopped hating me. That's progress, right?" Spike nodded. "And… and we had this really long talk right before the big Magic thing, about forgiveness and mistakes and the fact that we still loved each other but needed to build up trust. As I understand it, conversations of that type tend to be steps in the right direction, yes?" 

"I imagine so," he said, honestly, having never had any such conversation that he could remember. He'd never needed to 'talk' with Dru, and doubted she was sane enough at the best of times to do so; he had an impending Conversation with Buffy, however, for which he was woefully unprepared. 

Anya nodded, agreeing with him and herself, then sighed. "The last thing I asked him to do that night was to play nice where you were concerned, for Buffy's sake. She's been through enough this year without Xander being all vengeful against you, especially since he'd forgiven _me_ for…" She let that trail off, but he understood. "I explained that it wasn't just you… just so you know…" 

"Thanks…" 

"Anyway… he promised me he'd lay off you for a while… and then, well… he broke his promise." 

"I'll say…" he muttered. "So is that all that's bothering you? That the Whelp decided to have at it with me?" 

"No. See, that's what's weird… once I'd thought it over, I found it pretty easy to forgive him. I know he's never been on the best of terms with you, so, you know, it made some sense. Not that it was right, or anything, but…" Spike nodded understandingly to stop her rambling. "Anyway, after that, I didn't really get much chance to talk to him, what with the running-into-battle, and all… But before we all went off the second time to help Buffy with the purging, he kissed me… and for a moment, it was like nothing had changed…" 

"And now you two are all moody again. Even _I_ could tell that much." 

"Yeah, exactly. I don't know, I think he's just worried about Buffy or something. Not that I'm not, you understand, but…" Frustrated, she finally got to the point. "Oh, it just seems like he's spending all his time worrying about Buffy, or Willow, or Dawn, or how to get you out of the picture, or whether or not he even likes you now, and no time worrying about us…" 

She'd apparently finished her rant. The two stared at each other from across the distance between the headstones in silence for a moment, then Spike said, "Right. Sounds fair enough. I'd offer comfort or hug you or something, but, you know, awkward…" He gestured at the air between them somewhat helplessly. 

"It's fine… It was nice to have someone actually listen to me for a change." They both remembered where 'someone listening' had gotten them the last time, so she quickly moved onto a slightly safer topic. "So. I've held my end of the deal, now it's your turn. What's going on with you and Buffy?" 

Spike stood, and stretched. "Mind if I tell this on the move, luv? We ought to be getting back." She shook her head, and they resumed their leisurely walk through the cemetery. They were silent for a while, as Spike tried to collect his thoughts together. He decided to start by ascertaining exactly what Anya already knew. "Okay, just how much do you know about us?" 

She thought about the facts she'd managed to garner. "I know that you were sleeping together, because you pretty much told me so, and Buffy clarified it… And I know about what nearly happened in the bathroom, before you left. And I knew about the soul before anyone did; I could tell as soon as I saw you." She paused slightly before continuing. "I know that you love her… and I can tell that she loves you, but I think you've realised that…" 

"Yeah… And so's she, at last. Told me so, and everything." 

"Really? Wow… that's a definite advantage." 

"I s'pose so." He scratched the back of his head, nervously. He didn't like letting his barriers down at the best of times, and especially when he didn't have his coat to hide in. "It's just weird, you know? Ever since I got back… Buffy came to see me, for a start… and if that wasn't mind-bogglin' enough, she _apologised_. Never thought I'd hear that in a million years, but she did. I made a right idiot of myself, too…" He wasn't willing to expand on that particular piece of information, and hastily carried on. "Anyway, we had a chat about where I'd been and such… and I didn't see her much after that. Although it was slightly suspect when she came over and dressed my wounds. It was almost as if she was… concerned, despite her usual, well, Slayerness." 

"Maybe she was… Your leaving hit her pretty hard, you know." 

"Maybe… Well, after that, she told me to get over to her house so she could hold a Scooby meeting, and… well, you know what happened that night. When she came back and found me skewered, it seemed to hit home, or something. I think you missed most of this, but, right before she went out to chat it out with Xander, she kissed me. Nothing special, just a peck, really… but it felt different. Like she _meant_ it. Then, just to make it even more bloody confusing, she hugged me. _Hugged_ me." 

"So?" asked Anya, slightly confused by the apparent importance. "Buffy hugs everyone." 

"Not me. Never me." 

"Oh, I see… What else?" 

He raised a dubious eyebrow. "What makes you think there was anything else?" 

"Hello? Vengeance demon. I have a relationship-radar. It tends to help when you're looking for… clients." 

"Of course… Fine, you got me. There _was_ something else. In her basement. She… she got all upset over something. Well, lots of things. Couldn't really figure out which was bothering her the most, but I was being all comforting… and told her I loved her, as if that'd make all the difference. And she kissed me again. Really kissed me… and it felt exactly like the last one…" Deciding he ought to explain a little, he sighed heavily, and hoped Anya wouldn't needle him too much for being a wimp later on. "I love that girl more than I can even try to explain, even to myself. Willow said I'd hit it on the head when I said I was willing to let her 'be my death'… but that's just the tip of the iceberg. We're gonna be here all night if I try and explain any more. But anyway… before… all this…" - here, he gestured vaguely to encompass the whole of Sunnydale - "when she kissed me, it was just… just her. No feeling behind it, much as I hated to admit it. And that morning in the basement, it was… there was something there. But before I could find out what, Giles came back and she got scared and ran off… and I ripped her out for it." He shook his head at the memory, frustrated. "I gave her a sodding ultimatum, _and_ the silly bint agreed to it." 

"That explains the hatey vibes I was getting off you two at the meeting… but now you're both all… I don't know, cozy…" She looked across at him where he walked, squinting in concentration, and was a little surprised by what she sensed. "And scared…" 

He smiled. "That about covers it. She didn't know if she was coming back alive from that magical purge, and, being the Queen of Bad Timing, chose that moment to tell me how she felt… Right when I couldn't do a thing about it. Then she went and got herself all electrified, which hasn't helped much, but… she loves me." 

"So, you're going to be okay?" 

"Here's hoping. We're overdue on a long talk, though. Not lookin' forward to _that_, I can tell you…" 

Anya smiled supportively. "Well, good luck. If I can just sort out my relationship with Xander, everyone'll be happy." Apparently, she'd just remembered something else, and sighed sadly. "I just wish I knew…" She trailed off, dismissing the idea. 

"Knew what?" he urged. "And be careful with those wishes, demon-girl…" 

She gave a weak, vaguely amused smile, and said, "I wish I knew what was going on with him and Willow… I missed a lot before Giles dragged me back into Scoobyville, and… and those two love each other. They always have. I just can't tell if it's more, or if it's just me being paranoid." 

Completely sure of himself, Spike answered, "It's just you being paranoid…" 

"What?" 

"It is. Xander loves you." He gestured where the stake had pierced his chest. "You think he'd've done this if he didn't?" 

"I… I suppose…" 

"I _know_," he said, firmly. "I may not be a vengeance demon, but I can pick up vibes, too. I think maybe bein' around Buffy's helped with that, or something, but I can tell that there's still something between you two." 

Anya said nothing, but seemed very pleased by the information. They were nearly back at Revello Drive by this point, and she had one more thing to talk to Spike about, which, incidentally, turned out to be the same thing he wanted to discuss with her, too. "Um… that night… at the Magic Box. What _did_ you come for? I barely remember most of what happened…" She hoped he wouldn't take offence at that, but he didn't seem to connect it to the 'incident'. 

"I came in for a spell. To make me stop loving her." He laughed at himself. "Bloody messed that up, didn't I?" 

Anya laughed, too, lightly. "Yes, that you did…" 

"I never wanted to… I mean, I wasn't intending to… when I came in. It was-" 

"A mistake," she finished. "I know. Really, it's all Halley's fault. She put the idea in my head to make Xander hurt as much as I was, and then… well, you appeared, and..." 

Spike muttered something, hoping she wouldn't hear. "That Cecily always was a nosey little bitch even when she was human. Don't know why I ever fell for her." 

Unfortunately, Anya _had_ heard him, although she didn't have a clue what he was on about. "What?" 

"Nothing. Doesn't matter…" 

She shrugged. "If I'd known about you and Buffy, I swear, I'd have never-" 

"Forget it, Anya. I was lookin' to make her hurt, too. Let's just… forget it, okay?" 

"Deal," she said, obviously relieved. 

As the welcoming lights of the Summers house approached, the two finished their patrol in a far more amicable silence than when they'd started, content in the knowledge that there were no qualms between them any more. Anya, thanks to Spike's adamant observation about Xander, now had hope for redeeming their relationship. It would take time, but she was determined to see it through, and was sure that Xander was, too. 

Spike was now feeling slightly better about trying to make friends with the Scoobies, and the prospect wasn't as hideous as he'd first imagined it to be. Xander was really the only one he still had to make peace with, and it seemed as if it wouldn't be too difficult after all. For Buffy's sake, he was willing to try, anyway. 

As for Buffy, he was already starting to dread their impending conversation, even though he knew it had to happen. Despite her affirmation that she'd meant what she said at the abandoned factory, he was still a little paranoid that it had been a spur of the moment thing. And he wasn't entirely sure how the Magic had been affecting her afterwards, so the sooner it was out of her system and she was back to normal, the better. 

All he wanted to do was forget about whatever constituted as their past, and start over. She loved him, and she'd finally accepted that for herself, and that was all he needed to know. He knew, however, that they needed to see through the pain before they could do anything to make it better. If talking it through was a means to an end, then he'd have to do so… but he'd managed to talk to Anya without it turning into a shouting match, so he was feeling a whole lot more confident about it. 

The only thing he really wanted now was to be with her, no matter what it took. To forget the past, they had to talk about it. It didn't promise to be easy, but that was par for the course. And he was sure, that this time, it would all be just fine… 

_To be continued…_

A/N: I'd like to mention right now that reviews, as always, are appreciated. However, if I get anything along the lines of "Buffy/Giles - EWWWWW!" then I will NOT be a happy bunny, and will be forced to do something rash. It's not too late to kill Buffy off, you know. However, I can't be too harsh because I'm still aiming for 200 reviews, but… take heed. Next chapter coming soonish, I hope. Can't you tell it's nearing an end? 


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

**CRADLE**

**_Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter._**

A/N: Come on, people! Thirty more reviews and I've got a bi-centennial! ;) Anyway. This chapter. Some more of Buffy and Giles in England as she gets the magic out of her. Nothing special there, really. Don't know how long it's going to take. The real treat here is what happens to Willow, along with the aforementioned special guest. I hope you're not disappointed. It's vaguely implausible, but I think I've gone so far beyond the realms of plausibility already that it doesn't actually matter any more… (On that same note, no, I know absolutely nothing about magic, 'real' or otherwise…)

Just a note I'd like to mention - Devon, from what I've seen, which is quite a bit, seems to be composed entirely of cliffs, forest, and seafront, along with miles and miles of hills. And interestingly enough, in Cornwall, which is further on England's south coast (in the pointy bit in the west) for my trans-Atlantic chums, has a witchcraft museum in a little town called Boscastle. Just a little snippet of information. I keep thinking it would have been more sensible that the coven came from Cornwall and not Devon, for that reason, but there we go… (Incidentally, Buffy's view at the beginning is pretty accurate for what one sees from a high point of the northern edge of Devon… although I admit it's somewhat an amalgamation of two different ones. Ah, well, call it artistic license…)

Enjoy. Reviews appreciated, as always.

**Cradle**

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

_Devon, England, two days later…_

Buffy had never seen anything like it. Sure, she'd seen a few amazing views in her time - the night skyline of L.A., for example, and Sunnydale's vista by night, when she'd been at the top of the tower a year ago, marvelling at everything for the last time. But this… this was completely different. So… fresh. Just greenery, hills and sky for as far as she could see, and the cold, greyish-blue of what Giles had informed her was the Bristol Channel in the distance. And, far beyond that, disappearing into the haze, was the Welsh coast. The Slayer was fascinated by the _smallness_ of it all, the way the two countries just squished together like they did. She was used to huge cityscapes, and sea that disappeared over the horizon instead of meeting land a few miles away. 

She was standing at the side of the road, where she'd demanded Giles stop the car they'd hired. She was wired, probably from the incredibly long time she'd been asleep during the flight, and there was no calming her down. She'd been up the entire night of their arrival, much to Giles' chagrin as he'd been trying to get to sleep and she'd pestered him about everything from the Civil War to the Royals and all points in-between, and she seemed to be blissfully unaffected by jetlag. However, standing at the very top of a hill on a practically deserted country road, breathing in fresh, half-sea, half-countryside air, she felt her nerves starting to calm down. 

Giles was standing by the car, waiting for her. They'd been driving from the hotel in Barnstaple, the main large city of the county, to a secluded spot in the middle of nowhere. At least, that's what it looked like on the map - it was, in fact, a secluded spot in the middle of Exmoor, that Vivianne had given directions to. They'd stopped for a breather, mainly so they could both stretch their legs, and also to attempt to calm Buffy before they met the rest of the coven. Vivianne had given strict instructions that Buffy needed to be clear in mind prior to her arrival, to make the recalling spell work as fast as possible. 

Luckily, the fresh air seemed to be helping considerably, and when she turned back and headed to the car, he could tell she was much mellower than she'd been on the way. 

"Okay, let's go…" 

"Feeling better?" 

"Yeah. Nervous, but less hyperactive…" 

"Good." They both clambered back into the car and Giles started it up again, continuing their journey. Buffy resisted the urge to fiddle with the radio - the last time she'd tried, she'd managed to cause flying sparks and short circuit the entire car - and conceded to sit watching the view as it passed by. Tall hedgerows on either side of the narrow road blocked any attempt to figure out where they were, and she was only just getting used to the impossibly bendy route they were taking. She'd been far more comfortable on the motorways; at least they were straight like she was used to. 

Suddenly, a thought struck her. "Hey… I'm sure I read somewhere about there being some kind of creature on Exmoor…" 

Giles laughed. "It's a common myth, yes." 

"A myth?" She didn't look convinced. Peering at the thick hedges, she could believe there was something lurking there. "Well… if there is, it's going to be messing with the wrong American…" 

"Quite." He seemed to find the idea amusing, and added, "Afterwards, I'll take you up to Scotland and you can throttle Nessie." 

"Ooh, really?" He looked across at her with a knowing glance, implying he'd been joking. "Oh… geez, you people sure have a lot of myths." 

"It's part of our innate charm," he said. "Besides. We don't know for sure if they are myths. After all, there's no Slayer here to keep the demon, monster and dragon population at bay." 

"True," she said. After that, their conversation dwindled away into nothingness once more. After another half-hour or so of driving, they turned into an even narrower road than the apparent 'main' road they'd come in on, which seemed to be little more than a dirt track. Buffy looked around somewhat nervously. "Are you sure this is right?" 

"Yes, this is the road Vivianne marked on the map," he said, assuredly, and kept on driving. Eventually, a gap appeared in the hedge, and, as he slowed to a stop, a woman emerged through it and flagged them down. Her long, brown hair was scraped back into a somewhat messy braid at the back of her head, and she was dressed in jeans, walking boots, and a thick fleece. 

Giles stopped the car, and indicated for Buffy to get out. A little cautiously, she did so, and waited for him to lock up the car and join her. Once he had done, he gestured for her to move. She fixed a friendly smile (albeit a slightly weak one) and approached the woman. 

Vivianne smiled widely as they got nearer, and enveloped Giles in a huge hug. "Rupert! Good to see you again." 

"You, too." 

She turned to the Slayer, who was shifting uncomfortably and looking around at her surroundings. Exmoor was more foreboding than the parts of Devon they'd travelled through had been, and the sky was clouding over, too, making the whole scene a lot more eerie. "And you must be Buffy," said Vivianne. "Rupert's told me lots about you." 

"Uh… yeah. Hi." She held out a hand to shake, awkwardly, then retracted it again with a shrug when she remembered her predicament, and put her hands in the pockets of Spike's duster. She was beginning to see why he liked it so much; it was perfect for feeling invisible when you were uncomfortable with a situation. Her fingers wrapped around a box that she instantly identified as his cigarettes, and she held back a smile. Spike was probably going insane without them. 

She could sense the power in Vivianne, but she wasn't sure if it was her Slayer's Spidey-sense allowing her to do so, or if it was because of the magic in her own system. Whatever the reason, the brunette woman was clearly a very powerful witch, and, unlike Willow had been, was in complete control of her powers. 

Vivianne could tell Buffy was nervous, and decided to be as gentle with her as possible. "Listen. It's going to be fine. You're a strong young woman and as long as your mind is free of distractions, there should be no problems." 

"Is this gonna hurt as much as the other stuff did?" she asked, finally. 

"No. You don't need to do anything, either, just concentrate on… well, nothing." 

Feeling a little happier, she put on a determined face. "Right. Good. Let's get started." With that, she moved past Vivianne through the gap in the hedgerow, and into the field beyond. Giles and the witch watched her for a moment. 

"How long _will_ it take?" he asked. 

"That depends. If she stays focussed, no time at all. If not… it could take several attempts." 

"I think she's determined to get this over with," he admitted. "She managed to completely clear her mind the first time around… I'm fairly confident she'll be able to do it again." 

"Only fairly…?" 

He nodded. "She's got rather a lot on her plate at the moment. Aside from everything that's been happening in Sunnydale itself, she and her friends are all in various stages of emotional crisis…" 

"Oh…" She looked over her shoulder to where Buffy was admiring the view once more. "And does she know about-" 

"No, I haven't told her yet. Or any of the others. I didn't want to make it any more difficult for her." 

"You'll have to tell her eventually, Rupert." 

He sighed. "I know… I know I will…"   
  
  


_Sunnydale…_   
  
  


With Xander out patrolling with Clem, having finally finished repairing Buffy's couch and coffee table (remarkably well, probably out of guilt), Willow was having an early night. Anya had gone back to her apartment for the moment, just to check on things, and Dawn and Spike were down in the basement training, for what it was worth. She'd been patrolling with the teenager the night before and it seemed like training would be a waste of time - Dawn was already a very skilled fighter. She suspected it was just an excuse to spend some time with Spike, however, and she wasn't going to complain if it meant it was reasonably quiet on the top floor of the house. 

Sitting at the dressing table, she stared absently at her reflection. She looked terrible, she realised. On patrol the night before, they'd gotten ambushed by a dopey fledgling, and before Dawn could get near enough to stake it, quite a fight had ensued. She was sporting a nasty bruise on her cheek that she was currently wishing she could just heal with a spell. Apart from that, there were dark circles under her eyes, and her mouth was drawn into an almost perpetual grimace. She wondered how she was managing to stay happy around the others. 

The thought of Buffy and Giles' surprise party, however, made her feel slightly better. Finally, things were starting to feel right again for her friends. Anya and Xander were struggling, but it wouldn't be for long; Buffy was clearly determined to make it work with Spike. And, magic or no magic, Willow herself was miles better than she'd been only a week ago. 

She yawned, closing her eyes momentarily, and got up to prepare the bed for sleeping in. She'd made a conscious decision that morning to stop sleeping on Tara's old side of it, because it wasn't helping her at all. Instead, she'd moved all the pillows into one big pile in the middle so she had the whole mattress to spread herself out on. Not only was it less painful emotionally, it was also more comfortable. 

She finished beating up the final pillow and turned back to the mirror, nearly jumping out of her skin at what she saw. Reflecting back at her was not only herself, but Tara, once more, standing just behind her like before. Willow blinked, just to ascertain whether or not the image was real, and when it remained, she took a step closer to the mirror. Tara remained where she was. Willow swallowed, then said, 

"Are you real?" 

"Yes, Will…" 

Breathing a sigh of relief, she smiled. "What are you doing back? I thought the Powers were all strict on that sort of thing." 

"They are… I guess they like us, huh?" 

"I guess…" The two shared a smile like they used to. "So… why are you here? Not that I'm complaining…" 

"Because y-you need me." 

"I do?" Realising that didn't sound particularly good, she back-tracked. "I mean, I do… always… but… not like before." 

The mirror-Tara came up closer behind Willow's reflection and wrapped both arms around her waist, comfortingly. Willow felt a chill go through her midriff and instinctively wrapped her own arms around her stomach; in the mirror, she saw herself holding Tara's arms. "You… you can't do magic, c-can you?" asked Tara. 

"How did you know?" asked Willow, surprised. 

"Watching over you, remember?" 

"Oh, yeah… And no… I can't. The… the purging, it…" 

"I know…" 

"Giles is gonna ask his friend in England if she can help me." 

"I know that, too…" she said, grinning. Dropping the smile, she continued, seriously, "But I don't think she can…" 

"No, me neither… I guess I'm just going to have to… re-learn, or something." 

"Will, you never learnt magic." The redhead looked confused. "I-I mean, you didn't have to. Magic's always been in you; when you started practising, it just… ignited the power." 

Willow looked suddenly terrified. "I'm never going to get it back?" 

"Well… th-that's sorta why I'm here." Mirror-Tara released her again and moved to stand next to her. "When I died, my powers came with me. And… and I don't _need_ them where I am. I s-spoke to the Powers, and they agreed it would be best… I mean, seeing as you lost yours fighting the good fight… that it'd be best if I… gave them to you…" 

"What…?" Tara didn't answer, merely smiled. "But… how?" 

"Just stand still…" Bewildered, Willow did as she was told, watching as Tara's mirror-self walked behind her, then began to walk forwards, straight through her, until her own reflection was an amalgamation of herself and Tara, oddly translucent and shimmering. The shimmering became a white glow emanating from her (or their) stomachs, working out, eventually enveloping them both and shrouding the entire room in brightness. Then, suddenly, it stopped, and Tara walked right the way through Willow and emerged on the other side, before standing next to her again. 

Willow looked down at her hands, sensing the power in her grasp once more. The spot on her face where her bruise had been had also stopped smarting. She could feel the magic pumping through her veins, exploring new territory, before finally settling in the pit of her stomach, familiarly. She looked up again and met Tara's gaze in the glass. "Wow… Thanks…" 

"What else are mirror-girlfriends for?" she joked, bringing a smile to Willow's face, that turned into a wide grin. 

"I feel like I should give you something, but… I don't even know if I can…" 

Willow's shoulder suddenly tingled right the way down her arm as mirror-Tara rested her head there. "You've given me so much already… Just… just promise me you'll use it well." 

"I will… I promise… I don't think I _can_ do bad with this, Tara; it feels… it feels so pure. It's like silver and satin and ice at my fingertips…" 

Tara smiled. "Really? I always thought of it more as gold and honey…" 

"That, too… God, my power was like fire and… and lava compared to this…" She looked at her hands again, somewhat in awe. She'd never realised how different their magic had been, nor how 'impure' her own had become. She felt as though she'd been cleansed inside and out. Feeling the loss of contact at her shoulder all of a sudden, she looked up again to find Tara looking up at the ceiling. 

"I… I have to go… I've been here too long already…" 

"Darn those Powers," muttered Willow, semi-comically. "But… but thank them from me. I owe them big time." 

She giggled. "I won't use those exact words. They, uh, tend to remember stuff like that." 

"Right." 

"I don't know if I'll be able to come here any more. Once was difficult; twice is nearly impossible. But… but if you really, really need me, then… I'll try." 

"I understand… I think we're all going to be okay, now. And now I know you're happy where you are, I… it doesn't hurt so much." 

"And now I know you're all right, I can, um, rest in peace." 

The two smiled again. "Love you…" 

As the light began to form in the ceiling of the mirror-bedroom, Tara stood away from her slightly. "Love you, too, Will. Goodbye…" 

"Goodbye…" 

The light enveloped her, and she was gone. Willow smiled, a proper, genuine, happy smile, for what felt like the first time in centuries. Looking down at her hands again, still amazed by the new sensations, she decided to test out her new powers, just for curiosity's sake. She moved back over to the dresser, where she'd put the dried flowers she'd been using a few days ago to practice, and placed her hand over a lipstick. She muttered "Leviosa…" again, and raised her hand… then laughed in pure delight as the lipstick raised effortlessly and smoothly from the surface of the table and followed her every move. 

Not wanting to overdo it, she let it drop to the table once more. She looked up, heavenwards, and said, "Thank you…" then examined herself in the mirror again. Being happy did wonders for one's looks, it seemed, and she grinned at herself. Things were finally starting to go right again. 

Suddenly, she didn't feel like sleeping any more, and the sound of the door opening downstairs indicated that Xander was back, and, by the sound of it, had invited Clem inside, too. Or, at the very least, Clem had invited himself. Leaving the bedroom with a positive spring in her step, and hoping she didn't look too goofy, Willow went downstairs to meet them, just as Dawn and an exhausted-looking Spike re-emerged from the basement. 

"Hey, guys," she said. "Hi, Clem. How was patrol?" 

Xander waved a hand to indicate he was incapable of talking at the moment. "Can't talk. Need beverage…" So saying, he stumbled towards the kitchen and began rooting in the fridge. 

Clem looked a little out of his depth for a few seconds, then shrugged and decided to answer the question for him. "Wasn't too bad. Just a couple of fledglings. They put up quite a fight. Oh, hey Spike…" The vampire waved half-heartedly in greeting. 

Xander came back into the lounge, swigging from a carton of orange juice. "They were fast… well, they were fast until Clement here used all that skin to our advantage…" 

Everybody suddenly had the same horrible mental image, and shuddered. "Ew…" noted Dawn, speaking for the room. Then, to Xander, "And _eww_, Xander. Other people have to drink that, you know…" 

"No, they don't," he said, holding it upside down to indicate it was now empty. 

"How did your training go, Dawn?" asked Willow. 

Spike answered for her. "Her training, my arse. Bit gave me a run for my money, I can tell you." 

"Oh, you're a wuss, Spike…" she countered, then whispered conspiratorially to Willow. "He just wasn't paying attention 'cos he's so worried about Buffy. It's kinda cute, really…" 

She'd forgotten about his vampire super-hearing. "Cute, am I? I'll give _you_ cute…" So saying, he lunged at her, making quite sure he had no intention of harming her so the chip wouldn't go off. She reacted instantly and on auto-pilot (or auto-Slayer, more appropriately) and kicked out at the back of his knees, sending him toppling over backwards with a crash. He groaned at the impact, and Dawn realised what she'd done. 

"Oops… sorry…" she said, offering him a hand up. 

Spike clambered to his feet and addressed Willow. "See what I mean?" 

"You okay?" she asked. 

"Yeah… I'll be glad when your bloody sister's back, though. You can beat her up instead…" 

"We'll all be glad when she's back," said Xander. "Talking of which, how goes the party-planning?" 

Willow grinned. "I've got a few ideas. I thought we could make a banner, y'know? And lots of balloons and confetti and stuff. And I thought we could all sorta ambush her when she arrives, and…" Willow continued to reel off all her ideas to the group at top-notch speed, for at least another fifteen minutes. Xander and Dawn occasionally offered suggestions, and Clem offered to help if he could - he'd thoroughly enjoyed Buffy's birthday party and was looking forward to this one, too. 

Spike, however, since he wasn't having any part in the surprise, wasn't in the mood to discuss it, and took himself off elsewhere. The only place free of Scoobies and more or less memory and emotional demon-free was the basement, and even that wasn't completely perfect after his encounter down there with Buffy. Nevertheless, the cot was still set up from his stay, and he could, at least, shut the door on the meeting in the lounge. Much as he was looking forward to the Slayer's return, he didn't want to crowd her; he was going to let her spend the time with her friends, and if she wanted to see him, she'd know where to find him. This time, he was determined not to push her too hard.   
  
  


_Exmoor…_   
  
  


It was nearly nightfall by the time the coven had gathered, and if the clearing hadn't been decidedly spooky before, it most certainly was now. The sky had darkened to a deep blue, almost pitch black, and it was too cloudy to see the stars. There was no moon; the coven were working by candlelight. The only thing that was putting Buffy's nerves at ease was the fact that she knew Giles was close by, watching the procedure. 

She was sitting cross-legged, as instructed, in the centre of a circle of five candles, her eyes firmly shut as she concentrated very hard on clearing her mind. Around her, the coven had gathered, and were busy focussing their energies so they could be perfectly attuned to each other. Twelve of Vivianne's friends and associates were members of the coven, all of them friendly and pleasant, and nothing like Buffy had imagined. Many of them were in respectable jobs when they weren't practising magic; some of them had families; Vivianne herself, it turned out, was a school teacher. 

Clearing her mind was proving far more difficult than she'd anticipated. The surroundings were unfamiliar, for a start, and she was beginning to wish she'd put on another layer of clothing. Spike's advice had turned out to be useful after all. Not only that, she could feel the magic within her much more than she had previously. It wasn't an altogether unpleasant sensation, just an unfamiliar one - like something not quite warm, and not quite cold, bubbling in her stomach. As the ladies' energies began to focus, Buffy could feel it, as though it was getting excited, preparing to be released. 

Eventually, the outside sounds became more distant, and she finally managed to clear her mind of any erroneous thoughts. One of the reasons Giles had stuck around was because he knew, instinctively, from years of training her, when she'd reached a suitable trance-like state for the coven to proceed. He watched her for a few more seconds before finally giving a single nod to Vivianne. 

The brown-haired witch began to chant in a low voice, and her neighbour joined in. One by one, the others started up, until all twelve of them were muttering the same words. They repeated it, over and over again, each time getting slightly louder. Giles watched the process somewhat curiously - he remembered something similar to this happening when they'd created the magic for him in the first place. As the chant continued, after a while, Buffy began to hover, getting higher, very slowly, still in her cross-legged position. Her entire body started to glow, emanating from her middle; the chant had increased from a whisper to a full-blown shout. 

Suddenly, the entire coven stopped chanting, and silence fell. Then, Vivianne spoke. "That which was created for good, and which now causes pain, let it be recalled!" 

Buffy had, by now, completely vanished into the ball of light that was surrounding her, which was so bright that Giles had to shade his eyes. From within the ball, a snake-like wisp emerged, spiralling upwards. It separated into twelve smaller snakes, and from there, it drifted slowly towards each member of the coven. The glow around Buffy gradually diminished, and she headed back towards the ground, just as gently as she'd gone up, landing in the same position she'd started in. 

Each member of the coven briefly crackled, their borrowed magic resettling itself with the rest of it. Then, everything stopped, and the twelve women came back to reality, one by one, at their own pace. Vivianne was the first to recover, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw that Buffy was still safely on the ground in her trance-like state, and she gave a nod to Giles. 

He breathed out, and approached the circle, finally able to turn on the torch he'd brought and shedding some more light on the matter. "Did it work?" 

"It seems like it. Ladies?" She addressed her friends, who all gave various positive affirmations. "Well, everyone seems to think so. I suppose the real test is when she brings herself out of it." 

Giles nodded absently, approaching Buffy and crouching to her level. Cautiously, he placed both hands on her shoulders. He received no shock, and smiled. That was, at least, a good sign. He shook her slightly. "Buffy…" 

He had a brief moment of panic when she didn't react, and then, just when he was beginning to think she'd gone completely catatonic, her eyes opened. "Whoa…" she said, clearly still not quite alert, and remembering very vaguely what had happened. "I was… I was flying…" 

He laughed. "Near enough…" 

She shook her head to clear the fuzz, and allowed him to help her stand up, realising her legs weren't going to co-operate for a while. "As you can touch me, I'm gonna assume it worked…" 

"Well, do you feel magical?" 

She concentrated. "Nope." 

"Then it worked…" 

"Thank God…" 

Giles helped her stumble towards Vivianne, who was smiling. "Well done, Buffy," she said. "I had no doubt you'd be able to cope physically, but I never realised how strong you were mentally…" 

"Thanks." Finally, Buffy got to shake the woman's hand. "And can I just say, wow? You were amazing, all of you… before the magic left, I could just sense so much power… Not just that, but so many different types of power, too. I'd never realised before." 

"Looks like we both learnt something, then," she said. "Now, you should rest. You probably don't feel very tired, but trust me - sleep now, and you won't burn out later." 

"Right." She looked over to the gap in the hedge where they'd originally met, and saw the women of the coven leaving, their cars driving past and occasionally lighting the field with their headlamps. "Can you thank the rest of them for me?" 

"I'll be sure to do that." 

Buffy smiled gratefully, and stood there a little awkwardly, still with Giles' arm around her shoulder to support her. "Oh, what the heck…" she muttered, and threw her arms around Vivianne. The older woman returned the gesture, a little taken aback, but pleased nonetheless. Buffy let go, and instantly clung to Giles again as she felt her knees buckling. "And by the way, I love England. Even if it is horribly expensive…" 

"I'm with you on that one," said Vivianne. "Now go. Rest." 

Buffy nodded. "'Bye. And thanks again." With that, Giles smiled his goodbye to Vivianne, and directed Buffy to the car. He helped her in, and then walked around to the driver's side. He cast a glance to the witch, who gave him a knowing look that wished him luck when it came to telling Buffy about his staying in England, and then he got into the car himself. As he drove off, the brunette sighed, and made her way to her own vehicle. Rupert was a dear friend, but sometimes, he really did get himself into the most complicated predicaments… 

_To be continued… _

**A/N:** Not such a cliffhanger, this time. By the way, I've worked out how many more chapters this is going to be, and figured out it'll end bang on chapter 30. How's that for good timing, huh? So I'm sorry to say it's going to be ending soon, but keep the reviews coming anyway :) 


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

**CRADLE**

_**Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.**_

A/N: Right, here we go with the angst once more, as Giles finally tells Buffy he's leaving. I'd like to mention that I wasn't entirely sure what to do with that sequence, and I hope it works… Same threat applies as the last time :P Oh, and that I don't like coffee, so cannot pass judgement - the comments herein are purely Buffy ;) (On the other hand, I do know quite a bit about the cuddly status of Spike. But I told that story already :P)

Incidentally, I saw "Beneath You" tonight, and what can I say, other than 'Wooooow'… I went "Ouch" at several points throughout. So glad I didn't have to wait til Easter to see that… Not sure if I'll be jumping on the bandwagon with a post-BY fic, but, hey, I may as well try, right? If I can think of anything, that is…

I think that's about it. Oh, except that I typed this up originally on a typewriter, and will be scanning it, for anyone interested in seeing it in its badly-typo-ed glory :D Keep those reviews a-comin'!

**Cradle**

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Giles woke early on the morning of 'their' departure, mainly because he was finding it completely impossible, and ultimately futile, to sleep, under the circumstances. As it wasn't another 'ungodly hour' - although Buffy would most certainly have disagreed - he decided to call Vivianne one more time. He'd forgotten, with all the stress over helping Buffy, to ask if the witch was able to help Willow. 

Dialling the familiar number - and grateful he didn't have to add the international code first - he waited for her to pick up. 

"Hello?" 

"Vivianne. Me, again." 

"Oh, Rupert. What is it? No problems, I hope?" 

"No. Everything's fine. Just… something I forgot to ask you about before." 

She sighed heavily. "Go ahead." 

"Right," he began. "Well, as you know, Willow's purging was the indirect cause of Buffy's predicament… However, it transpires that she purged a lot more than we ever anticipated. The Dark Magic latched onto her own inner power… It just ripped it out of her, Vivianne…" He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Is there anything you can do?" 

She thought about it very hard for several seconds, but came up with nothing. "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do. I'm sorry." 

Trying to hide his disappointment, he said, "All right. It was worth a try. Thank you, anyway." 

"Sorry again. I wish I could help, but some things are beyond the realms of mortal power." 

"Yes… I realise that. You tried…" 

She decided to change the subject, as she knew there was obviously something else bothering him. "So… is Buffy going home today?" 

"Yes." 

"And have you told her yet…?" 

"I… no…" 

"Rupert!" 

"I know, I know… It's a very delicate situation." Realising that wasn't going to work as an excuse, he added, "I'll tell her today. I'll have to. At the airport. Then, she'll have less time to dwell on it… or convince me to go with her." 

"Why _are_ you staying here? It's obvious you care for her… for all of them." 

"I do," he clarified. "But it's for their own good. They need to learn to live without me supporting them through all their troubles." 

"I suppose…" With a sigh, he added, "Just try to break it to her gently, all right? She might seem strong, but I can tell she's fragile inside. Make sure you can give her plenty of reasons in your defence, too." 

"I can. It may not seem like it, but I've thought this through." 

"Good," she said. "I wish you both luck." 

"Thank you." 

"Goodbye, Rupert." More humorously, she added, "And don't let her scare you…" 

"I won't. Goodbye."   
br>

_Heathrow Airport, several hours later…_  
  


They were at the airport's check-in, and Buffy was still blissfully unaware of the bombshell her companion was going to drop. His attempts to try and talk to her had failed miserably. She was chattering non-stop, and he was unable to get a word in edgeways. At least she was happy, though. That would make it slightly less impossible, if not easy. 

"Ugh," she announced. "I _so_ cannot wait to be home. I mean, no offence or anything, England's great, but if I have to drink any more of that crap you call coffee, I think I'll go insane. Beginning to see the deal with you and tea, Giles, seriously. And you know? The whole upcoming conversation with Spike about you-know-what? So not worried any more. In fact, I may not even bother with it. Who needs all that extra hurt from the past, anyway? This is about the future. I just wanna get back, and tell him I love him, and be with him. Forget all the hassle." Giles smiled. If he'd had any earlier doubts about her relationship with the vampire, she was allaying them by the minute. It may not have started perfectly, but she was clearly adamant to make it so. "Did you know he could hug?" she continued. "It's true. I never realised before, 'til the night Xander nearly killed him. Well, okay, I've never actually taken the time to hug him, but anyway, he's really quite cuddly. In fact, screw slaying. I'm just gonna cuddle with Spike for the rest of my life-" 

"Buffy…" 

"Dawn can slay. I'm hereby promoting her." 

"Buffy," he tried again, louder. She halted in her babbling and looked at him. He indicated the woman at the desk, who was waiting patiently, and slightly amusedly, to check her ticket and weigh her baggage. 

"Oh. Sorry…" she muttered, sheepishly. She hoisted her case onto the weighing machine with ease; the desk clerk looked incredibly surprised by the weight of it, but said nothing, sending it through. She checked Buffy's ticket, and directed her towards the passenger lounge, telling her to listen for announcements. 

Together, Giles and Buffy headed for the lounge. It was then that she realised something that seemed to be just a little amiss… 

"Uh, Giles? I know you travel light, but… isn't this taking it just _slightly_ too far?" She indicated his complete lack of luggage, and, right before he could say anything, added, "And why didn't she check your ticket?" 

_Now or never_, he thought. "Buffy, there's something I have to tell you." 

"Well, it better end with the words 'luggage is being sent later'…" she said, pointedly, one eyebrow raised to suggest that he wouldn't like the consequences if it didn't. 

He sighed, and ushered her towards one of the quieter seating areas, trying to keep her calm. Once they were seated, and when it was quite clear that her expectant, irritated expression wasn't going to go away, he explained, "I'm not going back to Sunnydale with you…" 

She gave a bitter laugh, devoid of any humour whatsoever. "I'm sorry, I must have heard that wrong. It sounded like you said you're not going back with me." 

He cringed. He'd been expecting this, but he'd been half-hoping she'd make it easy. "Will you at least let me explain?" he implored. 

"What's to explain?" she asked. "You're deserting me. That's all I need to know." With that, she got up from her seat, and stormed off; he gave chase, and managed to catch hold of her arm to stop her. She wrenched free of his grip easily, and spun to face him, giving him a stony, hurt glare. "God, _just_ when I thought everything was going to be fine, and you-" 

"Buffy, please…" he begged. "Don't make this any more difficult." 

That was the last straw; the final shred of her tenuous self-control fell apart. "Don't make it any more difficult?! As if _you're_ making it so easy! Were you gonna tell me at all, or were you just gonna wait 'til I got on the plane and realised you weren't there?" 

"I couldn't tell you sooner. You'd only have managed to convince me to go with you." 

"And that'd be so terrible?" 

He shook his head, defeated. Clearly, she wasn't going to make it any easier on him. "Look, just… just give this" - he fished in his pocket for the letter, which he'd finally succeeded in writing - "to the others. It explains everything. When you're less angry, call me, and we can… I'll…" He gave up. "I'm going…" 

He handed her the letter, then turned and began to walk away. Buffy stared at the envelope blindly for a few moments, then at his retreating back. She dropped her head, tears stinging her eyes, then she started to run after him. "Giles!" 

He stopped, relieved beyond measure, and turned just as she skidded to a halt in front of him. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes as they regarded each other; suddenly, neither of them knew what to say. All of Giles' carefully planned explanations had vanished from his brain, seeming mediocre and pointless when he was confronted with his Slayer so upset. And Buffy was speechless now, her anger more or less spent and ultimately futile. She was still battling against tears, but it didn't last long; the moment they fell, Giles enveloped her in his arms. This was the one thing he'd hoped wouldn't happen; the one thing he was unable to fight. When she'd stopped sobbing enough to listen, he released her and manoeuvred her back to the seating area. 

"Now," he said. "Can I explain?" She nodded, wiping her eyes, annoyed that she'd let her guard down around him. He handed her a handkerchief from his pocket while he spoke. "This is… difficult, Buffy. It's been a terrible decision to have to come to, and it's taken me a long time to convince myself that it is the right thing to do. I know it seems like I'm deserting you again - I don't blame you in the slightest for thinking that - but, believe me, it's for the best. You all need to learn to live without me there to…" He trailed off, trying to think how to word it without it sounding patronising. 

"Bale our asses out of trouble?" she offered. 

He smiled at her colourful use of language. "Precisely. You're all mature, sensible adults; Dawn is growing up fast, and she has all of you to help her. You have to learn how to get on with your lives." 

"I know," she admitted, sniffing. "But it's just…" She sighed. This conversation was beginning to sound incredibly familiar, and reminded her of the one she'd had with Spike only a few days ago in the basement. "Look, everyone I've ever loved has left me… even Spike. And I really thought I'd got you back for good this time, Giles. It's not just me. Dawn needs a father… dammit, so do I…" 

He couldn't help but feel proud of that. "Buffy… I've been around for the most important events of your life. As for Dawn… much as I'm loath to admit it, she has Spike… and, God-forbid, Xander. Those two are enough to keep anyone out of trouble." That raised a smile. "I'll be a telephone call away." 

She seemed to be far more accepting of the situation now he'd had time to explain, but one more thing was still bothering her about it. "Okay… I realise why you have to stay. Far be it for me to try and force you into coming h-" She caught herself before she said 'home'. Sunnydale wasn't his real home, England was. She blinked, and tried again. "…coming… back with me. But why didn't you even tell the others?" 

He looked embarrassed. "Because… because I've said goodbye to them all twice this year… and I have yet to say goodbye to you. I-I didn't want them involved this time." 

Buffy was touched by the admittance. "I guess I was a superbitch the last time, huh?" 

"You had your reasons." 

Their conversation was then interrupted by an announcement for Buffy's flight, requesting the first batch of seat numbers to board. She looked at her ticket and saw that she would probably be called for next. "Wow. I suppose this is it…" 

"Yes." He got up, and offered her a hand. After he helped her out of the chair, unnecessarily, they both stood there rather uncomfortably. Now that the time had come, he had no idea what he wanted to say. "I'll… I'll walk you to the gate." 

Side by side, they headed towards the boarding gate, in silence. Buffy looked at the dwindling queue of passengers waiting to have their tickets checked again, and suddenly froze where she stood. "I don't wanna go…" she muttered, as the last passenger went through. 

"You have to," he said, futilely. Another announcement called for the second batch of passengers that included Buffy's seat number. "You _really_ have to…" He took hold of both of her hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze. "It'll be fine. And you won't even have to explain to the others; I've done that already in the letter." 

"Yeah…" She took a deep breath, eyeing the slightly longer queue nervously, wondering if she had time to say everything she suddenly wanted to in the short time left. "Giles… God, I don't know where to begin. Uh…" 

He smiled, saving her by suggesting: "If there's really so much, write it all down on the plane and send it to me when you're back. Or you could summarise…" 

"I'll do both," she said. "Right. Summarise…" She thought about it. "Okay. Giles, I'm sorry. For everything this past year, and probably for everything before, too. For… for the whole back-from-the-dead freak-out thing, for putting on you all the time… for Spike…" 

"Don't worry about the last one. I can see now that it's not nearly as hideous as I'd have thought." 

She smiled. "I'll… take that as a compliment. And that's the other thing. Thank you. For… being around… and for being you." 

"Any more?" 

She looked at the queue again - there were very few passengers left and if she didn't go soon, they'd be considering her a no-show. "Yes…" She hesitated, considering how it might be received. "I… I want you to know that I love you, Giles. I don't say that enough, to anyone, and especially not to you, but… I do." 

He smiled. "I know." Silence fell. Then: "You have to go." "I guess…" There was an awkward pause, and then she flung her arms around his neck, practically suffocating him as usual, although he didn't complain. He hugged her back comfortably, and placed a kiss on the top of her head before he let her go, and then, before his brain had even registered what was happening, Buffy had kissed him. 

It was nothing, really. A second later, he was looking down at her as she blushed furiously, turning an interesting shade of crimson. It had been an incredibly brief and chaste kiss, and she'd pulled away just as suddenly, as sanity kicked in. Her expression of complete mortification wasn't shifting. He stroked her cheek, smiling to let her know that he didn't mind, and she smiled back, relieved. "Sorry," she said. "Spur of the moment thing…" 

"Yes…" The queue at the gate had dwindled to nothing. "And _now_ you need to go…" 

She nodded, determinedly, and looked towards the gate once more with much less dread in her expression. Looking back to him again, she said "And you are coming to Sunnydale for Christmas and New Year _and_ my birthday. No arguments." She raised an eyebrow to suggest that disagreeing wasn't an option. 

Giles laughed, but seemed to agree nonetheless. "Of course…" They shared a mutual smile, and he finally said, "Goodbye, Buffy. Although not forever this time." 

"Goodbye, Giles." 

With that, she picked up her rucksack, tucked the letter to the Scoobies into her own pocket, and headed towards the departure gate with her head held high. Giles watched as they x-rayed her bag, checked her ticket, and waved her through; at the door, she stopped to look back, and waved, waiting for him to wave back before finally boarding the plane. 

Approximately half an hour later, he was sitting by one of the airport's large viewing windows, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee (no matter what Buffy thought, it wasn't going to stop him drinking it) as he watched her flight take off. Now, he was a lot more certain that he'd made the right decision by staying in England. Buffy understood his reasoning, and he could only hope that her friends would, too. In retrospect, he'd left them to their own devices right when things were looking up, and eventually, no matter how they'd probably argue to the contrary, they wouldn't need him anyway.   
  


_Summers residence_  
  


"Okay, up a little… stop! Down… No, that's too far, Xander. Honestly, if you want something doing…" 

Anya was, for some reason nobody could work out, in charge of the final preparations for the surprise party, having come back from her apartment. She was currently ordering around Xander and Dawn, and thoroughly enjoying it. They were and leattempting to hang the roughly painted banner up on the wall, with Xander on one chair, and Dawn on another. Willow had wisely left them to it, and was baking something in the kitchen that was apparently going to be just as much of a surprise as the party would be. Spike hadn't been seen for hours, only to occasionally emerge from the basement in search of blood from the fridge. 

The two banner-hangers' arms were now beginning to ache from the constant repositioning, and Anya still wasn't satisfied with it. Xander sighed. "Come on, Anya. It's not like it's going to stay up…" 

"That's no excuse for a bad job," she explained. "Dawn, your end is drooping." 

The brunette sighed heavily. "That's probably because I can't feel my shoulder." At this point, the phone rang. "I'll get it!" she shouted, dropping her end of the banner and leaping from the chair to answer it. Anya yelled something in protest that fell on deaf ears, and ran to save the material from the evils of the carpet. 

Dawn practically fell on the phone as she picked up. "Hello?" 

"Hey, Dawn," came the muffled voice on the other end of the line." 

"Buffy!" she said, just loudly enough that everyone would hear. The two exchanged the usual pleasantries while the rest of the Scoobies - including Spike, after Willow had alerted him - came to hover nearby. "How was England? And how's Giles?" 

"England was… cold," she said. "Kinda pretty. And tiny." Dawn giggled. "And Giles is… is fine…" Changing the subject, she added, "What about you guys? All still alive?" 

"Pretty much…" Seeing that everyone was getting impatient, she asked, "So where are you now?" 

"At the airport. Just calling to check in. Be home in about an hour, okay?" 

"Kay, Buff. See you in an hour." 

She put the phone down and turned to the others. "We've got an hour to get this party ready." 

Willow shrugged. "I think we can manage that. Of course, it'd be a lot faster if I…" She trailed off when she noticed her friends giving her the "don't-even-think-about-it" expression. "Kidding…" 

"Okay," said Xander, "so what's left?" 

Willow did a mental checklist. "Uh… just gotta wait for my surprise to finish cooking, get that banner up, and blow up the balloons." 

Spike put his hand up. "I can do that." Off the minor quizzical looks he received, he explained, "Vampire, remember? Can't run out of breath." 

"Great. Thanks, Spike," said Willow. "The balloons're in the bag on the kitchen table." He nodded in understanding and headed for the kitchen. "Can anyone think of anything else?" Everyone thought about it, and simultaneously shook their heads. "Right. Let's get finished, then." 

The house became a bustle of frantic activity as they attempted to finish preparing the lounge. Anya, authoritative as ever, continued to order Xander and Dawn around in an effort to get the banner straight, before finally conceding defeat and taking over herself. Spike set about inflating the balloons, realising he wasn't sure how many to blow up and then deciding it probably didn't matter and, after all, a hundred couldn't be that many, could it? Willow's mysterious foodstuff finally finished baking and she put it on the dining room table, and put a slight protection spell on it while she was at it, so nobody would sneak a peak (but not before muttering a slight apology heavenwards.) 

Forty-five minutes later, they'd finally finished, and crashed out in the lounge, exhausted. All that was left to do now was wait for Buffy and Giles to arrive so they could spring the surprise on them…   


_To be continued…_

**A/N:** Sorry, sorry… I was going to get around to the party this chapter, but it didn't wanna happen. But that means next chapter is pretty much wholly dedicated to that, Giles' letter to the Scoobs, and the beginnings of a Buffy/Spike conversation. And also another Spike/Anya conversation, which may, in fact, come first… ah, well, I'll see how it goes…

19 reviews away from my target, people! You know what to do!

Oh, and Darryl? Where's your review for Chapter 26? I missed it :( 


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

**CRADLE**

_Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.  
A/N: Sorry, once again, for the delay. I should really make my computer auto-type that. Anyhoo, this chapter has another conversation between Anya and Spike, since Darryl complained about my leaving it with them 'forgetting about it'… And the party, of course. And Giles' letter to the Scoobies, to some degree. Oh, and the B/S conversation? Well, we'll just see..._

Incidentally, I frelling hate writing for Anya. She's impossible, and I'm out of practice, so forgive it if it's weird or out-of-character…

I apologise for the pointlessness of this chapter, but hey, at least it's a chapter, and it needed to be done... As the advert (in England, at least) states: "All good things..."

**Cradle**

Chapter Twenty-Eight 

The taxi Buffy had hired was nearing home at last, and relief coursed through her at finally being back on familiar ground, in surroundings she recognised. England was all very well, but she didn't like being constantly disorientated and semi-lost whenever she looked around her. It made her nervous; a Slayer was supposed to know her territory, and, although she'd had no need to _be_ the Slayer in England, she was still wary that she didn't know all the vamp hotspots and back streets as well as she did in Sunnydale. 

She'd spent the journey fairly relaxed, and had resisted the urge to read the Scoobies' letter on the plane. She had very little to worry about, but was also slightly apprehensive as to how her friends would take the news of Giles' absence. She'd been deliberately cryptic on the telephone to Dawn, who obviously didn't suspect a thing, thus confirming her suspicions that he hadn't told them he wasn't coming back. 

Contrary to what she'd been rambling about at the airport, she knew she had to talk to Spike, tempting though it was not to bother. They needed to get all the apologies, forgiveness, and explanations out of the way, before figuring out what to do next. After the summer they'd spent, stuck in their constant cycle of hurt (she figured it certainly didn't constitute a healthy relationship), Buffy wasn't entirely sure if they _could_ make it work. 

Nevertheless, she was more than willing to try, and was pretty sure that Spike was, too. He'd changed a lot since returning from Africa, gaining a soul notwithstanding; most of his original cockiness had gone, and even when he was acting like his old self, it seemed a little forced. Before he'd left, she'd been too afraid to let herself love him. He was a vampire - one excuse that wouldn't ever fly, after Angel. He was evil - another one that wouldn't fly, because, no matter what she kept telling herself, he'd proven he wasn't more times than she could count. Above all of this, he wasn't the good, normal guy she'd been clamouring for her entire life… but sooner or later she had to accept that it wasn't going to happen that way. She was a Slayer, and no amount of 'normality' would change who - and what - she was. 

She smiled to herself. No, nothing would change who she was. And the wonderful thing was, Spike didn't want to change her. They were both creatures of the night, Buffy by choice, and Spike by default. It was never going to be the perfect, ordinary relationship she'd always told herself she wanted, but lately, she'd actually started to realise that nothing was perfect, and living on the Hellmouth meant that nothing would ever be ordinary, either…   


Back at the house, the Scoobies finally collapsed on the couch after their manic forty-five minutes of party-making. The banner was up, the food was all ready, the balloons were inflated and thrown liberally around the house (although this was probably an understatement, as they completely covered the floor), and they'd all designated themselves various hiding places. It was late afternoon by this point and the sun was just starting to set, and the lounge was dim without the lights on. 

All of them were present except for Spike, who was skulking somewhat nervously by the basement door, still trying to decide whether or not to join in with the surprise. As he'd said before, he'd already surprised the Slayer enough lately to last a lifetime, and he didn't really feel like partying, particularly. He'd much rather have Buffy all to himself when she got back, which wasn't going to happen with all of her friends and her sister around the place. Hence, he'd just come to the decision to hide in the basement, and was just about to go back down there, one hand on the door handle, when Anya wandered into the kitchen to look for something she'd apparently forgotten. 

"Spike? Where are you going?" 

He cursed under his breath at the Scoobies' general awful timing, and turned to face her. Excuses were never his strong suit, and he fumbled about with an explanation. "I, um… just going…" 

"Are you hiding?" 

"No!" he said, defensively. "Well… all right. Yeah." 

"Why?" Her tone was partly accusatory, and partly superior, as if Spike hiding was the least of her worries and she was only asking out of common courtesy. 

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Now, if you don't mind, you can just get whatever it is you came in here for, and I'll go back to my hiding…" 

Anya began rooting in a drawer, still addressing him. "I would've thought you'd be glad to join in the party. I mean, what part of "Buffy's-coming-home" didn't you understand?" 

"If Buffy wants to see me, she will. Just not in the mood for a party, is all." 

"Suit yourself." The vengeance demon clearly wasn't in any mood to be arguing with him, so she just accepted this and started to head back to the lounge. Spike could tell, by this point, that something was still bothering her, and he knew it was probably a bad idea to ask, but he couldn't help himself. 

"Before I lock myself in the basement away from the Scooby festivities… is something wrong?" 

"Nope." 

"Pull the other one, Anya. You're not exactly in a party mood yourself." 

She was caught, and she knew it. She wasn't entirely willing to have another heart-to-heart with Spike, but since the last one hadn't been as mortifyingly embarrassing as she'd imagined, it couldn't hurt to tell him. "It's nothing. Just… vengeance demon PMS." 

"I… imagine that's not pretty." 

"It's like Slayer PMS to the power of ten," she informed him. Spike took a step back, in case he accidentally managed to provoke her. "And… I've been thinking about that conversation we had the other night." 

"Ah…" He knew it had to be something to do with that. "Still having problems with the Whelp?" 

"Not that you'd notice. Actually, we're getting on just fine; everyone is. And I meant about the other part of the conversation… The, um, 'us' part." 

"The lack of 'us' part," he corrected her, quickly. 

"Whatever." She sighed. "But we agreed to forget about it." 

"That, we did." A pause. She didn't say anything. "And…?" he prompted. 

"I can't." 

He almost made a crack about that, but her expression quite clearly indicated that if he tried it, he was dust, so he bit his tongue and attempted to be a voice of sympathy. "I see…" 

"I mean… it doesn't feel _right_ to forget about it. It happened, and it was a mistake, but we got over it, so what are we forgetting?" 

"The fact that we hurt the people we love?" 

"We can't expect them to forget it, too, Spike…" She was right, annoyingly. "Forgetting'll make it easier, sure. But if I've learnt anything from my experiences with Xander, it's that easier isn't necessarily better." 

"I don't know about that," he pondered. "I'd go for a bit of 'easier' on occasion…" 

"We all would, but that's not the point." 

They stared each other down. "So what are you saying, then?" asked Spike. "That we made a horrible mistake and we should be proud of it?" 

Anya sighed heavily. He wasn't getting it. She chose not to think too hard about his wording - a 'horrible mistake' wasn't exactly the nicest way of putting it, after all - and instead tried to explain her reasoning. "No, of course not. Only that we should accept that it was just that - a mistake - and not dwell on it. Or forget it like it never happened, either. I mean, come on… if it'd never happened, I bet you and Buffy would still be the problem couple of the year, and me and Xander would probably still be hating each other." 

Spike finally had to admit that she was right, much as he was loath to. Nevertheless, he wasn't prepared to stay for the party, and Buffy would be arriving soon. He cast a glance outside - it was dark enough now for him to go out and not burst into flames - then looked back over at Anya, who was giving him an expectant, questioning look. "Fair enough," he said. She seemed to accept this as an agreement; now that it was sorted and out of the way, Spike headed to the door. 

"Whoa, where are you going?" she asked. "I thought you were only hiding, and now you're running away?" 

"I'm not running away," he informed her. "I'm just… going for a walk. Buffy 'n' I have a lot to talk about later and I want to think some things through, if that's all right with you?" She nodded, not wanting to argue with his tone of voice. 

"Where're you going? In case anyone asks…" 

"I doubt anyone will, but…" He thought about it. "Look, I don't know. I'm going… I'm going back to where this all began." On this cryptic note, he got out before she could ask him any more questions, disappearing into the night. Anya thought about his answer for a few moments, before deciding it might mean more to Buffy anyway, and joining the others in the lounge.   


Buffy breathed a sigh of relief as the cab pulled up in front of her house. The lights were all out, as she partially expected - they were probably out patrolling in her absence. Either that or they were all asleep. It didn't matter, anyway; she was pretty sure that Spike would be waiting for her, no matter what, and, awful though it sounded, he was the only one she really wanted to see at that moment. She was dreading her friends' reactions to the news about Giles. 

She paid the driver and lugged her case out of the taxi and up to the front door. Unlocking it, and stepping inside, she didn't bother with the lights. "Hello?" 

There was no reply. Then, two seconds later, as soon as she'd shut the door, the lights came on, and she was ambushed on all sides by her friends and sister throwing streamers and yelling "Welcome home!!" at her. Somewhat taken aback, her smile was a delayed reaction, and she was so surprised she didn't even think to look for Spike amongst them. Although, she really didn't have time to, because she was immediately hugged by Dawn, who then dragged her further into the living room so she could see the decorations. 

They'd eventually succeeded in getting the banner up (although not to Anya's exacting standards) and it looked rather impressive. It was painted in various colours and had the words "Welcome home, Buffy and Giles!" scrawled across it; there was a Union Jack on one side, and the Stars and Stripes (with probably a few too little stars) on the other. The floor was a veritable sea of balloons courtesy of Spike's inability to gauge how many was too many, and the dining room table was laid out with a variety of party foods. Willow's surprise turned out to be another batch of her infamous redemption-cookies, made by hand without the aid of any magic whatsoever, and chock-full of chocolate-y goodness. 

Buffy smiled, and gave each of her friends another hug each. "Thanks, you guys. I can't believe you made all this effort." 

Dawn grinned. "No biggie, Buff. And look! We all stayed alive and everything!" 

"So you did," she agreed. "Lemme take my stuff upstairs and get changed and we can start the party." They all nodded various affirmatives, and Buffy started towards the stairs. She got as far as putting a hand to her case when she stopped, realising something was missing from this situation. She turned again, to face her friends, and surveyed the room. Yes. Definitely something missing. But what was… oh. 

"Guys? Where's Spike?" 

Apparently, the Scoobies had come to the same conclusion at the same time, and her question coincided exactly with Xander's "Buffy? Where's Giles?" 

She'd almost forgotten. Leaving her case alone, she slowly returned to the room; her expression suggested that they should all sit down, which they did, apprehensively. She felt in her pocket for the letter he'd given her, and held onto it firmly, for support, as she spoke. 

"Giles, uh… he… he isn't with me." 

"No duh," said Dawn, suddenly reverting to being twelve. "Where is he, then?" 

"He stayed in England," she said, quickly. 

"What? Why?" That was Willow, fighting against her pouty-face and failing horribly. "Did the Watchers' Council call him back?" 

"No, nothing like that. Look, he gave me this." She pulled the letter out of her pocket, and handed it to Xander. "It explains everything better than he probably could have told me, under the circumstances. All I know is that he thinks it's time for us to move on without him, live our own lives. I agree with him. I didn't want to lose him either, but it's for the best." She paused. They all stared at the, as yet, unopened envelope in Xander's hands, curiously, almost fearful of the contents. "I… I think he's probably put something in there for all of you. I didn't read it." 

"He didn't say goodbye…" muttered Anya, pitifully. Buffy'd had a feeling his absence would hit her hard. 

"Yeah, I know. But… he did, to me, and that's what he wanted. He hates saying goodbye; you know that. Especially to me… but he didn't get the chance the last two times, and… I guess he didn't want to involve you. He knew we'd try to make him stay if he told us. Hell, I did." 

Silence fell, and they continued to stare at the letter. Xander had apparently been assigned to read it out, but didn't look particularly inclined to do so at that moment in time. Buffy stared at them a while, realising they still hadn't answered her question. She gave them a few minutes to recover from her news before pressing with it again. 

"So, um, where's Spike?" 

They looked at her, and shrugged. Nobody had seen him since he'd blown up the balloons, but couldn't think exactly when that had been. Anya, however, shifted uncomfortably in her seat and tried to change the subject. 

"Come on, Xander. Open it." 

Buffy interrupted. "No, Anya. You can open it once I know where Spike is. You know, don't you?" It was pointless trying to deny it. The vengeance demon got up from her seat and indicated for Buffy to follow her into the kitchen, leaving the others to discuss the latest news about Giles. Once they were in there, Buffy folded her arms and put on her best 'mom' pose, that she often adopted with Dawn, and an expression that demanded an explanation. "Well?" 

Anya shifted uncomfortably. Her comment to Spike about vengeance demon PMS was suddenly promising to be less true than she'd originally thought, when confronted with five-foot-two-inches of cranky Slayer. "I… I spoke to him a few minutes before you arrived." 

"Great. So where is he?" 

"I have no idea. He wouldn't tell me." She sounded decidedly snippy. "I just know he didn't want to talk to you while we were all here." 

Buffy sighed. That sounded like Spike, all right. And now she came to think about it, it probably would be impossible to have a serious conversation whilst there was the possibility of being constantly interrupted. Taking it out on Anya wasn't particularly productive, and she was upset enough already from the news about Giles. "Sorry, Anya. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?" 

She shook her head. "He _did_ say something about going back to where it began. Whatever that means." 

The Slayer looked thoughtful. "I think I might have an idea… Thanks." So saying, she headed towards the back door. 

"Don't you want to know what the letter says?" 

"I imagine it's just for you guys; he's said all he wanted to me. If there's a message, I'll read it later. Right now, I have to find Spike." 

With that, she was gone. Anya sighed heavily and made her way back into the lounge, where Dawn, Xander and Willow were still staring solemnly at the unopened letter. Her curiosity was damn near killing her by this point, and she squeezed onto the couch next to them, and said. "Geez, Xander, it's not a will, you know…" 

"Yeah, I know…" 

There was a long pause. Judging by the envelope, the letter seemed to be fairly lengthy, and addressed to nobody in particular, as there was no name on the front. Obviously, Giles had been unable to decide what to put there, or unwilling to single out any one person as addressee. Finally, Xander took a deep breath, and opened it…   


_On the streets of Sunnydale…_  


Buffy realised too late that she'd run out of the house unarmed, and if a vamp decided to jump her, she'd be essentially defenceless. She'd already lost enough time, though, and didn't want to go back for her stake; that would just make her even later meeting up with Spike. If she ever found him. Sunnydale as a city was relatively small, but when someone wanted to hide, it proved very useful. There were too many abandoned places, and too many hidey-holes for the evil and slimy - but, as it was sat above the Hellmouth, that figured. 

_'Back to where it all began,'_, Anya had said. That could mean anything where Spike was concerned. If he was speaking metaphorically, there were any number of demon hotspots or maybe even churches where he could have gone, and it would take hours to search them all. Too theological, possibly. She instinctively looked up at the sky - that's where _everything_ began, after all, millions of years ago - but discounted it. She was thinking about it too hard, and doubted he'd be that cryptic. That was obscure even for Spike. So he must have meant literally, in which case… back to when _what_ began? His life? Her life? Well, the former would be England, surely; she stifled a groan at that thought, not entirely ready to go back there just yet, or having to explain to Giles once she was. And if the latter, well… she couldn't remember where she was born, exactly, and she was pretty sure Spike had no idea. 

She stopped walking - it wasn't helping - and sat down on the pavement to think properly. _'Back to where it all began…' Come on, Buffy. This is Spike. What the Hell could he possibly mean?_

Considering their latest situation, Buffy started narrowing down the possibilities: soul, vampire, love. Okay. Soul. Well, surely that meant Africa? She'd put that idea to one side for the moment; moving on: vampire. Where had he been Sired? London. Damn. She was just going around in circles. One possibility left: love. It was all-encompassing. She started thinking it through logically. When had he fallen in love with her? And where would he have been? She supposed either the tree outside her room - but that was too obvious, and if he _had_ been sitting in that tree all the time she was searching for him, she was going to kill him where he stood - or his crypt. The latter made a lot of sense - the site of their first non-spell-induced kiss, and many liaisons after that… but it also held bad memories, so maybe that wasn't it after all. Which really gave her only one more logical option - wherever it was they'd met for the first time. 

Her mind drew a blank at first. It had been so long ago; somewhat guiltily, she realised she could recall precisely where she'd first met Angel, but Spike…? Had it been Hallowe'en? In some back alley? No, surely not… the High School, maybe. That sounded more plausible. That had been their first fight, when he'd first introduced himself - in a way - and claimed to be her future demise. That was it. The old High School. 

Determined, she got up again and set off dutifully in that direction, trying to remember the way. She was feeling immensely proud of herself for having figured it out, but it was just as quickly overcome by dread at the upcoming difficult conversation, and she had no idea how to begin, or even what to actually discuss. She supposed that would just make itself apparent as they talked. 

As Buffy rounded a corner, something caught her eye: a streetlight reflecting off the metallic sign of the Bronze. She stopped in her tracks. _The Bronze… wait a second…_ They hadn't met at the High School at all; it had been at the Bronze, while she was embarrassing herself close-dancing with Xander. The memory made her blush, but only for a second, because then she remembered how the not-so-tall-or-dark stranger had come up to her on the dance floor. _This_ had been where they'd first met. This was precisely what he was referring to; she could see it now. He was always talking about their dancing together, right from the beginning… and this was the site of their first dance. 

She smiled to herself, smugly, but it soon dropped as she tried to find a way in. Reality hit with a thud. It was time to talk with Spike. 

_To be continued…_

**_A/N:_** Argh! Don't kill me! You'll be pleased to know that I already have half of their Conversation written and it's going to be good, I promise. Oh, come on. As if I'd let you have it this chapter. Where've you been for the past 27 of them? :P So, yes. Penultimate chapter 29 coming a lot sooner than this one. Honest. I'm very close to 200 reviews now, so keep 'em coming, lovely readers :)


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

**CRADLE**

_Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.  
Further disclaimer: The poem used in this chapter is "The Sick Rose" by William Blake, in his "Songs of Experience" collection. I figure Blake would have been one of the Romantic poets our William might have aspired to be. The image of Spike on the balcony, just a floating head, is pretty much stolen from the remake of "Nosferatu", whereby the eponymous vampire was dressed solely in black and only his head was visible. That's about all I can say without spoiling the chapter, but it'll make sense when you get there…  
**A/N:** See, told ya this'd be here faster. It's also a lot longer than the last one, to make up for prior crappiness, and because my SpikeMuse is rambling at a rate of knots… And, voila! The moment/s you've all been waiting for - Giles' letter to the Scoobies, and - finally - the Buffy/Spike Conversation. It's an angst chapter. But I just watched all the episodes from "Beneath You" through to "Potential" in one sitting (for the first time…), and my angst factor has risen to Titanic proportions. But hopefully there'll be some fluff to compensate… (If Spike comes off as slightly unhinged, blame Season 7. I guess it works, though, because souled Spike is souled Spike, and I might as well use what I've got…)_

Also, I remembered partway through this that Buffy didn't actually know about Spike's poet-past - after all, it doesn't seem to be anything he's particularly proud of - which, unfortunately, completely frells up my idea. So, for the purposes of this fic, let's all just assume she found out somehow. Maybe he told her, or something. :P

As I mentioned, this will be the penultimate chapter. I'm glad, since this thing has been torturing me since last July. On the other hand, I've rather enjoyed writing it, so keep your eyes out for the upcoming Buffy/Farscape crossover, coming once I've finished this, by order of my co-writer, who has been prodding me to finish so we can get started. I still don't know how this is going to end, but rest assured I'll think of something, or wait for something to hit me on the head and tell me what to do. Chapter 30 will be the end; I may leave it open for a sequel, but if not, "Cold Trust" and "Dawn's Prom Night" are both set after this fic, so… they'll do for sequels for now :)

(I've subtitled this one "Conversations with Undead People" and may or may not go through and title each of the chapters in a similar manner. We'll see. That one just seemed apt…)

Enjoy. Reviews are welcomed as always…

**Cradle**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

The letter, as anticipated, was long, but partially only because of Giles' large handwriting. None of them had ever really seen it before, and all four of them took a long time merely admiring it before Xander read it aloud. His script was slanting, slightly jumpy from having written the beginning on the plane and it being the tenth draft, and he was, of course, one of those people who made sure to dot all his 'I's and cross all his 'T's. The wording was formal, because that was how Giles was used to writing, but personal for each of the recipients in its own way. 

"Okay. Shall I read it?" asked Xander. The three girls nodded encouragingly. He cleared his throat theatrically, skimmed through the pages to check how long it really was, and began. 

_"Dear friends, _

"I don't know where to begin. I've written this to save Buffy having to explain anything. There's so much I have to say that I couldn't inflict upon her to do so. Besides, at least a letter, one can keep; the spoken word is confined to one's memory, and I want this to be a fresh reminder whenever you want it. 

"As Buffy has doubtless told you - or, as you've doubtless noticed - I am remaining in England. Mind you, every time I say that, something tries to end the world and I end up coming back to help you, so I'm sure I won't remain there forever." (Here, they all smiled.) "I know this is probably difficult for you to accept, but you must believe me when I say it has been a terribly difficult decision to come to, and that this letter will, I hope, attempt to explain my reasoning. 

"First of all, you must understand that it's not because of anything any of you might have done. It's not something I've been planning since I arrived; in fact, the idea only struck me as I was buying mine and Buffy's tickets. I will admit, however, that I acted before thinking, and then tried to rationalise it. Luckily, I've realised that it is the best decision. 

"You all need to learn to live without me. I think you know that. I'm not always going to be around to help you when things get difficult - apocalypses, of course, being exceptional circumstances - and the sooner you get along without me, the better. I'm always just a telephone call away, as you know. Keep in touch, by all means; I'll try and visit for your birthdays and Christmas - and Dawn's prom, naturally - just so you know I'm not completely cutting myself off from you. I love you all, and I will miss you, but this is for the best." 

Xander noticed that both Dawn and Anya had started to tear up slightly, so he stopped. He was feeling emotional himself as it was, and took a breather to regain some control over his already wavering voice. Willow was staring at her hands, her face obscured by her hair as her head bowed, but she was probably close to tears as well. "Should I carry on?" he asked. 

Dawn wiped her eyes, annoyed with herself. "Yes." Anya confirmed this with a nod of her own, as did Willow. Xander put his free arm around Anya (mainly because she was on his left, at the end of the couch), and Willow leaned her head on his other shoulder, following the letter silently as he read it out. Dawn snuggled closer to Willow; together, they managed to take up only half of the couch as they huddled, and, with their combined strength, Xander continued. 

_"I'll start by explaining why I couldn't tell you before I left. It was, simply, because I knew you would try and make me stay, and I also knew that, faced with all of you, I probably would have given in. Saying goodbye gets more difficult every time, not easier. And for purely personal, selfish reasons, I admit, it was only Buffy that I wanted to bid farewell. I didn't get a chance either of the last two times. _

"This letter is, collectively, an explanation, and a goodbye. I will, however, say a few words to each of you individually. As someone is doubtless reading this out to the group, I'll try not to embarrass anyone. I've also resorted to pulling your names out of a hat to decide which order to go with, because if I go chronologically, alphabetically, or any other way, I'll inadvertently upset someone. So. At random…" 

He'd started a new page at this point, for neatness' sake, and Xander paused again. "Are we ready?" 

"Uh-huh." That was Willow; Anya and Dawn quickly nodded their affirmation. Xander placed the read pages to the back, and cleared his throat again. 

"Dawn, you're first." 

"Wow. That makes a change," she said, smiling. Her expression turned serious again as she added, "Go on…" 

"Right… 

_"Dawn… I don't know where to start. As the youngest in the group, I suppose we all feel committed to protecting you. But, as you showed me in the basement, your skills would seem to prove you can protect yourself. Keep practicing, keep learning, and I know you'll be a worthy fighter alongside your sister. (And now for the obligatory paternalistic rant - do your homework. Even trainee Slayers need an education.) I realise this is horrible for you - you and Buffy both are like daughters to me - but you have enough male role models in your life without me. There's Xander, for one" - here, the accused grinned to himself before continuing - "and there's Spike, who, with any luck, will be around for a long time to come. As already stated, I'll be back for your Prom, and your graduation - there's your reason for doing your homework - because I wouldn't miss it for the world. _

"Always remember, no matter what happens, your sister loves you, and so do I. Should you ever need to call me, kindly remember that there's at least six hours time difference, and even stuffy British ex-Watchers need their beauty sleep on occasion." 

Dawn was sniffling by this point, but managed to laugh at his dry humour nonetheless. Xander realised Giles had thoughtfully put each individual letter on a separate page, and handed Dawn hers. She grabbed it, and re-read it a few times while Xander went through the others. 

_"Willow, first of all, I need to give you some bad news, for which I apologise. I spoke to Vivianne about your magic predicament, and I'm afraid there's nothing I can do. I'll continue researching now I'm back here, and I promise, as soon as I know anything, I'll tell you. But enough of that for now, because all I can offer you is strength and hope. You're strong now, Willow, and I know you can get through it on your own, and with the help of your friends. _

"Whether you realised this or not, I want you to know that I was never angry with you over what happened over the summer. You got addicted, but you managed to get yourself off magic; what happened at the Magic Box wasn't entirely your fault, either. Grief makes people do insane things. Which brings me nicely onto my next admittance. I've forgiven you - all of you, in fact - for the decision to bring Buffy back. Even though we know where she was, now, I don't think any of us could have carried on much longer without her. She may still be hurting, but… well, perhaps she and Spike can make the pain go away, together. I'm going off on rather a tangent. Getting back to you, Willow - yes, I forgive you, and I'm glad you've realised that magic isn't the only way to get things done. You resisted the no doubt overwhelming urge to repeat the spell on Tara, and I'm proud of you for that. If your powers return, I'm certain you'll use them wisely." 

Willow, teary-eyed, was handed her letter. She was glad she'd been forgiven, but felt awful at the same time. Giles didn't know she'd tried to resurrect Tara, right after she'd died, and she'd been too scared to tell him so after the way he'd reacted to their bringing Buffy back. She needed to call him, as it was, to tell him the good news about her powers - although it would take some explaining, of course - so maybe, just maybe, she'd get around to telling him that part of the story, too. 

Xander looked at the following page. "Next one's for Spike. Better wait til he's back." 

Anya, however, was insatiably curious. "C'mon, Xander. Just skim it…" 

He sighed, but complied anyway. "Uh… know you love Buffy, yada yada yada, could grow to trust you, yada yada yada, please make her happy… That's pretty much it." 

"Wow," said Dawn. "Coming from Giles, that's…" She couldn't think how to explain it. 

"That's… so Giles-y…" said Willow, then explained. "I mean, he's always known what's best for Buffy… and he's never really liked Spike. He's practically giving her away… in a non-married, non-father-y sense. I guess if Giles is good with the whole Spike thing, then Buffy can go ahead and love him without fearing the Wrath of the Watcher." 

"Or the Wrath of the Scoobies," admitted Xander. 

"Hey, I would've been fine with it," said Dawn. "No Wrath of Dawn." 

"Enough with the Wrath," interjected Anya. "Who's next?" 

Xander put Spike's letter to one side to give to him later. "Me," he said. 

_"Xander. I think we covered most of our 'problem' in the car the other night. You've been through a lot, just like everyone else, but hopefully your success at saving the world has made just some of the wrong seem right. I know you've still got things to work through with Buffy, but I'm sure, between you, you'll manage it. A seven-year-old best friendship like that is not easily shattered, and if you can look beyond the distrust and the past mistakes, you'll be able to get back that harmony I remember from the good old days. Good luck with Anya. I know you can sort out your differences and be friends again, if not in love. Be patient with her; she might not show it outwardly, but she's hurting inside as much as the rest of you. _

"Finally, I am hereby promoting you to take care of Dawn - should she need it; after all, she's growing up - and be there for Buffy and Willow. Even with Spike around, you're outnumbered by the womenfolk. Be Alexander, the Great Protector. If that's too much to ask, be Xander, the Man, like I know you can be." 

Xander smiled to himself, muttering, "Love ya, Giles…" and folded his letter to put in his pocket. "I guess that just leaves you, An. I'm guessing if he writes to Buffy it'll be in the mail." 

"Saved the best 'til last," she said, smiling somewhat smugly. 

"It was random, Anya…" explained Dawn, the 'duh' implied. 

"That's what he said…" she answered, implying it wasn't random in the slightest. Xander intervened quickly, clearing his throat before reading the final letter. 

_"Anya, Anyanka, whatever you prefer, I'm sorry I had to leave. Believe me, the Magic Box will be fine without me, as it has been before, and so will you. Like Xander, I wish you the best of luck in rebuilding your relationship and trust. I think I know you both well enough to predict that you'll be absolutely fine, eventually. Any friendship that can last through an apocalypse is one that can last through anything life throws at it. Don't shut yourself off from those who love you. They've all got problems, but it doesn't make your own any less significant. _

"You may be a vengeance demon again - sorry; justice demon - but… try not to wreak havoc. Diplomacy works far better, especially for an aspiring businesswoman like yourself. And for goodness' sake, let Xander move back in. Buffy's house is crowded enough already." 

She laughed. Xander handed her the paper and gave her an expectant look. "I'll… think about it," she said. It wasn't a 'yes', but it was close enough. He smiled. "So is there any more?" 

"Uh… just final words…" 

_"That, I believe, is it. Tell Buffy I look forward to her letter. Telephone calls from any of you will always be appreciated to keep me up to date on the occurrences on the Hellmouth, even if it's just a patrol report. I might even give this modern technology a go and get myself an email address. I may be here by choice, but it doesn't mean I'm not going to miss you all terribly. I always swore that if I ever had children, I'd want them to be exactly like you. I've lately come to the decision that I don't need to; I have you - my children-that-never-were, and the best friends anyone could ask for. _

"I was never any good at ending letters. I'll finish this by saying: 

"Goodbye, but not forever, 

"Your Grown-Up Friend (not in a scary way), Giles" 

The room fell into silence. Somehow, the fact that he'd still signed it off with his surname wasn't strange in the slightest. He'd always been 'Giles'; never Rupert, never both names together. Willow smiled to herself at his sign-off, since he'd remembered her own wording over six years ago. Nearly all of the Scoobies were sniffling, Xander included, and none of them said a word. There was really nothing else to say.  


_The Bronze…_   


Sunnydale's only nightclub was shut, despite the relatively early hour. Buffy figured that would make searching for Spike a lot easier, though, since there'd be nobody else there; it would make their conversation more private, too, since they wouldn't be shouting over the crowds. This place held memories for them, too. The end of Sweet's spell, for one, when they'd kissed in the alley behind the building to the final refrain of her friends' song. And then there was the night after Willow's memory spell - Buffy made a mental note to have a word with her about her spells-that-went-wrong, since they always seemed to end up with her kissing Spike. 

She found the fire door ajar - either a coincidence, or Spike's own access point - and she stepped into the dimness. The only light came from the streetlights outside, vaguely illuminating the area by the open door, which creaked as she pushed it further open in an attempt to lighten the interior. The high windows let in some of the moonlight, but not enough to make a difference. That was when she spotted him. He was up on the catwalk - another place of decidedly bad memories - and only his head was visible, reflecting the moonlight and giving him that same ethereal appearance as in her dream all those nights ago. The rest of him, clothed in black as usual, vanished into the darkness. If he'd sensed her, he didn't make it obvious. 

Buffy made her way to the steps at the opposite end of the catwalk to him, giving herself a few more seconds of thinking space. As she ascended, her footsteps echoed dully off the metal. Spike came into view, head-first, most of him still obscured by dark; he was leaning on the railings, his hands clasped, staring dead ahead. 

She stopped at the top of the steps. What to say? It was impossible to gauge his mood when he was in profile, other than the fact that he was clearly thinking. It seemed to be more a case of what to do to get his attention. The best option seemed to be a light-hearted approach. She cleared her throat. "Y'know… if you wanted to dance, the music's better at home." 

He didn't answer, but finally turned his head to look at her, and from his position, he surveyed her. They looked remarkably similar, if they did but know it. She glowed in the light, all pale skin and light hair framing her face, like an angel. Her body from the neck down was completely obscured by his duster, even her hands as she hugged it around herself. His Buffy, the Slayer, all that was good and pure and against-all-evil, was standing there wrapped in the trademark of a self-confessed and once-proud killer. She was beautiful and deadly, and all the more dangerous for it. Spike found her suddenly irresistible - she was the epitome of Slayer-gone-bad, as he'd dreamed once, a long time ago - but just as quickly, he was disgusted with himself for thinking it, and nauseated by himself, by his prized trophy, for tainting her. He looked away again with a ragged breath, and began to mutter something. She had to strain to hear him, but identified it as a poem instantly. 

"O Rose, thou art sick!  
The invisible worm  
That flies in the night,  
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed  
Of crimson joy:  
And his dark secret love  
Does thy life destroy."

His voice was surprisingly light, his Cockney accent oddly missing; in its place was what she could only assume his native accent had been - well-bred and English, nervous, innocent. She wondered if the cocky-London-Spike-voice was an act after all, but, hopefully, they'd have time to discuss that later. 

"Wow…" she said. "Was that a William the Bloody original?" 

He smiled. "No…" When he turned to look at her again, the smile reached his eyes in fondness for her literary ignorance, and when he spoke again, the gentleman she'd heard was gone. "If it was, I wouldn't be here now, I reckon. It's William Blake's, that one…" 

"Right…" She knew he had to have recited it for a reason, but the analysis could come later. Right now, they had a Conversation to get through. "You know we need to talk, Spike." 

"Yeah." It was resigned to the degree that she wanted to give up, as well. 

"Look, I don't want to either, but-" 

"So let's not bother," he said, suddenly, more animated than she'd seen him all night. His raised voice startled her slightly, and he could tell, so he lowered it again. "Buffy… talking isn't our thing. We both know that." 

"Maybe it wasn't before," she explained. "But if we want this to work - and _God_, I want this to work - then talking is going to be mandatory. So I figure we should start now." 

He sighed, and sought out a table, collapsing into one of its chairs and burying his head in his hands. "Talking uproots pain," he said, refusing to meet her gaze for the third time that night. "Memories, an' all. Of what I did to you." This time, when he looked up, she saw unshed tears glistening in his eyes. "I don't think I can go through that again… don't think I can make _you_ go through it…" 

She fought back tears of her own, reminding herself instead how infuriating he could be sometimes. "You think it'll be a day at the park for me? This is going to be tough on both of us, but it needs to be done." She sat opposite him; as she grasped his hand, she remembered she'd forgotten to tell him the good news, but supposed the lack of electricity in their touch would be explanation enough. "I hurt you more, Spike. _Way_ more. But if we don't get it out of the way and behind us, all that hurt is just going to fester and… and I don't want anything to ruin what I _know_ we can achieve." 

He nodded, sniffing, blinking back the tears. "Where do we start, then?" 

She let go of him and raked both hands through her hair. "Ugh, I don't know…" 

"S'pose I should explain the poem…" Buffy nodded, although she was pretty sure she knew what it was in aid of. A little prod in the right direction would ascertain if she was right or not, though. Spike repeated it, faster and with less performance, to remind her. It looked like he was going to give her a lengthy explanation, which indicated he'd been thinking about it too much lately, but decided against it, and simply explained, "You're the rose, pet." 

"Yeah, I got that…" 

"Which makes me the worm. The parasite; that's all vampires are, really. Eatin' away at people and life until there's nothing left. My love's destroyed you…" 

Buffy tried to reassure him as best she could. She'd realised the poem summed up their relationship, but not in quite the annihilistic way that Spike had interpreted it. "You're not a parasite… and yeah, okay, so what we had was a secret from everyone, but it didn't destroy either of us. _I'm_ not destroyed." 

"But-" 

"I'm _not_." Her hand found his again, squeezing it. "And even if I was, it wouldn't be down to you. C'mon, Spike. If I can admit it to myself, you have to as well. I was self-destructo Buffy for way too long and I just dragged you along for the ride." 

"Doesn't excuse it," he said, only half-listening. He'd worked himself up into rambling apologies, unable to look her in the eye. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, Buffy. Never, ever wanted that." 

"I-I know." She bit her lip, hoping her next words came out as sincerely as she wanted them to be. "I forgive you. You know that, right?" He was looking at the table again, and she could only convince him if she could look him in the eye. She lifted his chin with her free hand, and repeated it. "I forgive you." There were the tears again, as he stared at her with those big eyes of his. This time, it was she who had to look away, down at the table he'd been finding so interesting. "I guess I deserved it, after everything I-" 

"Don't _ever_ say that." His adamant tone caused her to instantly look up again; his eyes had widened almost comically, shocked she could even think that had been his reasoning. "You already apologised for the usin', love. And I'd already forgiven you… so many times. I don't know why I… did that… tried to do that…" He gave up trying to give his actions a name, realising they didn't deserve to be called anything human. "But I _do_ know it wasn't revenge. And for the record, neither was what happened with Anya." 

Buffy had nearly forgotten that. "But I thought-" 

"You thought wrong. She and I already chatted that out, while you were gone, and we've agreed it was a mistake, but it happened for a reason, and it _needed_ to happen. I know it can't be taken back, Buffy, but…" 

"It's okay. I don't…" She was going to say 'care', but it sounded too harsh, under the circumstances. "I… I get why it happened. I probably would've done the same thing. Although, uh, obviously not with Anya…" 

That managed to raise a smile. "I was surprised you didn't," he said. 

"So was I…" she admitted. "I guess it would've hurt you more that it hurt me… and let's face it, I wasn't exactly trying to make your life easier back then." 

Spike seemed to search her face for a moment, and Buffy wondered what she'd just said that could mean so much. Finally, he asked, "So… so it did hurt you, then? Me and Anya?" 

A memory returned unbidden to her brain, of Willow tapping into the camera and herself and Xander watching the live footage like a pair of masochistic voyeurs, unable to look away, hoping it was a trick. She blinked painfully, trying to rid herself of the residual image, and then focussed her attention back on present-day Spike. He was being patient, in itself an indicator of exactly how much he'd changed since he returned. Slowly, she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, it did. A lot more than I thought it would." 

Some part of him was pleased, but it wasn't the time. Buffy was reliving that pain, and he had to make it up to her. "That wasn't my intention," he said. "Anya was just on a vengeance kick and I was convenient." 

That sounded too familiar. Then, Buffy remembered telling him the same thing and felt horrible. She'd been remembering, randomly, all the things she'd said to him the past year, but some things she'd forgotten. Things that seemed petty, but that she now realised must have scarred deeper than most of the physical blows she'd inflicted. He'd forgiven her too easily; she still felt the need to apologise for everything. "You weren't convenient," she told him. His expression told her that Anya probably would have told her differently, so she explained, "Not then. When we… the first time. When I said you were convenient… You weren't." 

He wasn't entirely sure what to say that wouldn't sound contrived, so he said nothing. Buffy's sincerity constantly threw him for a loop. He hoped his thankful expression was enough, and continued with his explanation. "I… I did go there for a spell…" 

"You wanted it to stop…" she muttered, paraphrasing what he'd said to her in the bathroom. 

"I wanted it to stop," he repeated, confirming it. His chest felt tight, although it had no reason to, and he swallowed. "You know, I never realised loving someone could hurt so much. Yeah, it hurt with Dru… but she was sadistic as well as insane. It doesn't count. But with you…" 

"I'm sorry for making it worse." 

He shrugged to imply it didn't matter, although she wasn't buying it. "Par for the course, love." 

At this point, their conversation stopped. There were only so many apologies one could make, and only so many things to be forgiven for. Silence fell, as they stared at each other from either side of the table, trying to figure out if there was anything left to say. Of course, there was plenty they could talk about, plenty of past hurt and regrets, but they'd be there all night, and Buffy was beginning to want to end the conversation and get to the good part. 

"So…" she said, after a while. "We've covered 'I'm sorry', we've covered 'I forgive you'… I think we're done." 

Spike was about to say something, but faltered, realising what she'd actually said. "We're done?" he asked, trying to stop the smile that was threatening to break out. 

She nodded, slowly. "Well, as done as we're gonna be. I _do_ kinda wanna get home at some point tonight…" 

Spike was all-too-willing to agree with her, but something still didn't feel right. In truth, the discussion hadn't been as hideous as he'd imagined it would be, but he couldn't help feeling as though they'd gone through it all for no purpose. What was missing? He stared intently at the Slayer, trying to work it out. Then, it hit him, and he felt like an idiot for forgetting. 

"Me, too," he said, "but I think we've got one more thing to talk about." 

"Really?" She seemed disappointed, having had the prospect of her warm bed postponed momentarily. 

"Mm." He grasped both of her hands on the table-top, pondering how to phrase his next words. "We've sorted the past mistakes… but I'd like to have some idea of what's going to happen now…" 

"Oh." Her voice was practically inaudible. She'd known this would come, eventually. In theory, telling Spike what she knew he wanted to hear should have been easy, since she'd done it once; in practice, now she wasn't almost going to die, it was twice as difficult. "Guess I owe you that, huh?" 

He fought back a scream of exasperation and conceded to roll his eyes instead. "Buffy… you don't owe me anything. I just want to know where I stand, is all." When she didn't immediately answer, he let go of her, and stood, resuming his original place near the railings. "I need to know what I am to you, now. Your friend? Lover... no, scratch that; ex-lover? Neutered pet vampire with too much of a conscience for his own good…?" 

Buffy turned in her seat to look at him, and wondered when she'd managed to destroy him to this much of a degree, and how much of his current, residual self-hatey state was down to the soul, and how much was purely because of her actions the past year. It wasn't a ratio she was particularly driven to working out. They'd talked through their emotional problems, but it would take a lot to erase all the mess in Spike's brain. She was beginning to think she wasn't strong enough, and felt awful for it; she'd caused it, after all, so she should have been able to fix it. But no. Buffy had broken things as a child, and it had been her Mom who put them back together. She'd give anything right now to have that liberty again. 

He'd said she didn't owe him anything, but he was wrong. She owed him plenty, for everything he'd done, and everything he'd given her. She'd been a mess herself, when she'd come back, and Spike had been there, fixing her. She owed him that much: fixing him in return. 

Fighting against tears as she realised it fell down to her alone, Buffy placed a hand in the small of his back. "Spike…" 

He turned; he saw the tears in her eyes, but knew better than to mention it, or to work out what (or who) they were for. She said nothing else for the moment, merely searched his face, staring up at him from her position in the chair. "I mean it, Buffy," he told her. "It's your call. It always has been." 

_Screw being strong_, she thought, as the tears tracked down her cheeks against her will. She couldn't be strong and be honest at the same time. "Don't you remember…?" she asked. "Don't you remember what I said, at the building site?" 

"Yeah." He sighed, resignedly. "It's not that I don't believe you. I want to… but I know it was just a spur-of-the-moment, might-not-come-back-alive thing, and I know how that can do funny things to a person's emotions. I'm not holding you to anything." He moved a stray lock of hair out of her face with one hand, but moved out of her space afterwards. "I know we can be friends." 

"It's not enough for you…" 

"Maybe not," he admitted. "But if it's enough for you, then I'm willing…" 

Why the Hell was he being so stubborn and blind? Couldn't he see what she was getting at? Well, Buffy was beginning to doubt her own coherency by this point, so she was entirely sure Spike was on the right tracks on his side of the conversation, judging by what she'd given him. It was time to start making sense, to the best of her mind's ability at the moment. She grabbed onto both of his hands, and pulled, forcing him to kneel at her level so she could see his face. He gave her a questioning expression. 

"Do you love me?" she asked. 

To Spike's credit, he covered his shock and minor amusement remarkably well, considering, while Buffy's mind was screaming, _What the Hell was that?!_ at her. Randomly, she suddenly realised how expressive his face could be, as he managed to cycle through confusion, consternation, irritation, and, finally, sincerity, without saying a word. "I don't know how you can even ask me that," he said, quietly, without a hint of any bitterness. "You _know_ I love you. I always will, Buffy; and you know that, too." 

She nodded, relieved for a reason she couldn't fathom. "So you say you love me, but you're happy being my friend?" His entire demeanour radiated disappointment as he nodded back at her. She'd finally managed to stop the flow of tears, luckily, and fixed a nervous, half-smile on her face instead. Carefully, she knocked a fist lightly on the top of his head, twice, to imply its hollowness, and left her hand resting there with the palm flat. "Did that soul make you crazy as well as broody?" 

He raised an eyebrow at her change in tone (and, more likely, at her 'broody' comment.) "Probably… Not entirely sure what you're gettin' at, love…" 

"I noticed." She rolled her eyes, then trailed her hand from the top of his head to his cheek, tracing the side of his face, and making sure he wouldn't look away from her as he'd been apt to do all evening. "If it's not obvious yet, we already are friends. And if you want to know what you are to me, well, here's a list for ya: friend; life-saver; confidante; partner - in fighting evil, in fighting each other, in protecting my friends, in patrolling… and I got a whole bunch more where they came from. That isn't what counts; what _does_ count is what I want you to be for me, what I think you could be, what I've seen behind your eyes. You're not a 'thing'. You're not a monster-" 

He interrupted. "'M not a man, either…" 

She moved the hand on his cheek slightly, reassuringly. "Maybe not… but you have a heart greater than most men do, and you've let me rip it out on more than one occasion, when putting a stake through it would probably have been more humane for the both of us…" Her free hand moved to his chest, in a silent gesture of returning it as well as reassuring physical contact, and that hand, too, stayed where it landed. She could've sworn she felt something beating beneath his skin, even though it was impossible. "And, not meaning to damage your Big-Bad-y pride, but… you've changed. I don't see a vampire when I look in your eyes. I see you, Sp…" She stopped. Surely Spike was the vampire she was claiming not to see? She repeated it, changing her mind. "I see you… William." 

At the use of his given name, he closed his eyes painfully. Partially, he remembered the last time she'd used it, when she'd told him it was over between them. But apart from that, he didn't feel worthy of the name any more, and especially not when it was coming from her lips. "I'm not William. Not any more. He wouldn't do the things I've done. He wouldn't try to… to make you love him with violence and psychological warfare. No, William'd regale you with poetry and pretty language and chivalry. You can't even begin to compare me to him." 

"Look at me, dammit…" He obliged, opening his eyes again. "I _can_ compare, Spike, if that's what you'd rather be called. And I don't know if you noticed, but you were pretty much one with the poetry yourself, earlier." She sighed, despairing of him. "William is still in there somewhere, and you may not see it, but I do." 

He was silent, completely unable to think of how to answer. Buffy searched his face, seeing his conflicting emotions and confusion. She muttered 'Screw it…' to herself, and, before he could react or realise what she was doing, she leant forwards and kissed him. At first, he froze, not quite able to believe it; then, he was kissing her back, softly, still a little unsure of whether or not even that was allowed. Buffy let his coldness take over, numbing her rambling thoughts where they stood, until she was sure she could say precisely what she wanted when next she spoke. 

She let Spike be the one to pull away, and when he did, it was too soon. He seemed to think so, too, and resembled someone who was giving up on an addiction for their own good, despite the after-effects. He stared at her. Had that really just happened? He touched her face, ascertaining whether or not she was real. "Buffy…" 

"Sh…" she said, before he could ruin it by asking questions. It was time to put this particular emotional demon to sleep. "Spike… William… whoever the Hell you want to be… I love you." 

He blinked. It looked like he was anticipating a punch in the teeth to follow her words, and when nothing came except her nervous smile, if was as if he let everything go. Suddenly, he had his head in her lap and both arms wrapped around her waist, trying to stifle a series of noisy sobs, while she stroked his back and completely failed at not letting his emotional outburst get to her. Eventually, he quieted and lifted his head again, sniffed noisily, and adopted an apologetic expression. 

"Sorry. I just… you… after everything…" 

"I know…" she said, wiping her eyes irritatedly. "Now, let's go home, and figure out what to do with our lives…" 

He nodded his vehement agreement to that suggestion and got to his feet, pulling Buffy out of her chair and into his arms, holding her tight against him as she returned the gesture. He buried his face into her hair, kissing the top of her head. "God, I love you…" He whispered it close to her skin, and it resounded through her body, from the brain down. 

She pulled out of his arms, unwillingly, but knowing they couldn't spend the entire night where they were. "I love you, too. But can we please leave?" He smiled, and nodded; she led him out of the abandoned Bronze, and into the streets, heading back to the house. They walked hand in hand, silently, both of them thinking over the conversation they'd just had, Buffy especially wondering why it had taken so long for her to say three relatively simple words, but deciding it was worth it, in the end. 

They'd reached Main Street, when she suddenly realised something. "Oh, Spike? I completely forgot. Your coat…" 

They stopped walking and he looked down. "What about it?" 

"I meant to thank you for lending it to me. It's really quite cosy, once you learn to ignore the smell of beer, smoke and demon entrails…" She gave him a smirk to imply she was only kidding; she wouldn't have his duster smell any other way. "Anyway, here…" She started to shrug out of it, but Spike's hands on her shoulders stopped her. 

Off her quizzical look, he said, "Looks better on you, love." 

"Liar…" That made him laugh, luckily, a sound which was refreshing after the night they'd had. "You know there's a box of cigarettes and your Zippo in the pocket, right?" 

He'd divested her of the coat in two seconds flat and was immediately kneeling on the floor, rooting through the pockets, emerging triumphant from the folds of leather with a cigarette in one hand and his lighter in the other. He took the world's longest drag and breathed out. She giggled, the expression of relief on his face entirely too funny. She felt oddly vulnerable without the duster, though; it really was very good for making a person feel empowered, or simply for shrouding oneself in when the going got tough. It was hardly surprising Spike was emotionally fraught. The duster was like a spare body part to him. 

He picked it up off the ground and brushed the dirt from it, then proceeded to carry it over his arm. She looked at him curiously. "You're not going to wear it?" 

He shook his head. "Bad memories." 

She sighed heavily, pulled it from him, and held it aloft. "Arm," she ordered. He complied, putting first one limb, then the other, through the arm-holes of the coat. Soon, he was adjusting it on himself, making himself comfortable, and relaxing into it. For a moment, he relished in the warmth it had retained from her body; Buffy stood back and looked him over with a nod, as he discarded the end of his cigarette into a nearby bush. "There. That's the Spike I fell in love with." 

He rewarded her with the most radiant grin she'd ever seen him give, and reached out for her hand again. She blushed at herself, aware that words were flowing without her having much control over them, but no longer really caring. The rest of their walk back to Revello Drive passed in silence, as it had started. Buffy's problems, of course, were far from over - she still had to deal with her friends and their reaction to whatever Giles had written in the letter - but for the moment, at least, everything was finally right with the world.

_To be continued…_

**A/N:** I realise that this is, somewhat, the end. However, I've still got a few things to sort, so Chapter 30 will be the tidying-up chapter. Knowing me, that'll take me months of staring annoyedly at my computer screen until I finish it, so… yeah. If it takes ages to get here, think of this as the end ;)

Fluff! Shameless, shameless fluff! Such fun!!

Until then, review, review, review! And then review some more! You owe me after what I went through to get this monster of a chapter out :P


	30. Chapter Thirty

**CRADLE**

_Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.  
A/N: Well, here it is. The final chapter. *sniff* While it technically ended on the last chapter, there's still some bits and pieces to sort out - Willow needs to call Giles and admit she tried to resurrect Tara, Spike has his letter to read, and there's a few other odds and ends to sort out. And, what the hell, I might as well give you some fluff (of the pretty much everyone variety) and a teense more angst while I'm at it. Because I love ya._

The Buffy/Spike fluff, of course, is shamelessly semi-stolen from "Touched" (the only episode on record that succeeded in brining me to hysterical tears) but you have to admit, it was wonderful. That's why the final moments have a somewhat season seven-y vibe to them. As to other shippers I'm being nice to: Xander/Willow, Xander/Anya, probably Giles/Willow. Heck, it's one long fluff-fest =)

Chapter following this is all author's notes and acknowledgements, which you don't have to read, but I mention a few people by name, so… well, it's up to you =) I've uploaded it because there's no delete chapter function, and I need to bump this up the list somehow ;)

**Cradle**

**Chapter Thirty**

The house was calm, a somewhat melancholy atmosphere permeating the air as the Scoobies thought about their various letters from Giles. The television was on with the volume turned low; Anya and Xander were sitting close on the couch, watching whatever was showing without really paying it much attention, and Dawn was on the other end of it, fidgeting, waiting impatiently for the return of her sister. Willow was pacing the kitchen agitatedly, waging an inner battle between telephoning Giles and admitting that she had tried to bring Tara back, or letting him believe she'd resisted. She prayed Buffy and Spike would be back soon, so she could concentrate on something else instead.

She read through her letter again, that she'd placed on the counter. Giles had such faith in her; she felt terrible for breaking his trust, and the guilt was beginning to bear down on her. There was nothing for it. She had to call him; it could be hours yet before Buffy returned and if she didn't put her mind at ease, she was sure she'd go insane.

Heading to the dining room, she thought carefully about what to say. She dialled the familiar number, half of her hoping he wouldn't be in, relieved at the continued ringing on the other end of the line. After five rings, Giles picked up.

"Hello?"

"H-hey, Giles. It's me."

She could hear him smile. "Willow. Hello. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The red-head sat herself down in one of the dining chairs, bringing one knee up under her chin. "I just wanted to say 'hey'." But of course, Giles knew her better than that, and sooner or later, he'd figure out that she had another reason. "And… and thanks for the letters. From everyone. We really appreciate it."

He laughed a little. "Rather soppy, I know…"

"Oh, no, Giles, they were really nice…" She paused. "Okay, there's another reason I called. Several, actually…"

"Go ahead."

"Well… first of all, thanks for trying… asking Vivianne if she could help, I mean. And it doesn't matter that she couldn't."

"I'm glad to see you're coping better, Willow-"

"No, I'm not!" she interrupted, then added by way of explanation, "I mean, I am. Um… I have good news. While you and Buffy were away, um… I was visited by Tara. She… she came to me once before, while I still had the Dark Magic inside of me, and she convinced me to try and fight it, right when I was ready to stop… but anyway, the Powers let her see me again, and she… she donated her powers to me, Giles."

He didn't question her. After everything they'd all seen, a reappearance of Tara in corporeal form didn't surprise him in the slightest, and especially not when her bond to Willow had been so strong. "That's wonderful."

"I know. And you know something? It feels so different to mine; it's so pure. I didn't realise."

"I'm very happy for you, Willow," he said. "Was there anything else?"

She hesitated, not wanting to break the amicable mood, but knew it had to be done. "Uh… yeah…" She swallowed. "It's about Tara…"

"Oh?"

"Mm. You know how you said you were proud of me for not trying to bring her back when Warren-"

"Yes," he said, sparing her from saying it.

"You may wanna renounce that…" There was a deathly silence. Willow resisted the urge to apologise profusely. "I… I did try to bring her back, Giles. Right after it happened… Whoever I managed to summon - and now I can barely remember, it seems so long ago - wouldn't let me." There was silence on the other end of the line. "I'm so sorry, Giles…"

"I see."

"You have every right to yell at me again…"

"I… I won't. Thank you for telling me. Better to get these things in the open, after all."

She smiled. "So you're not mad?"

"I'm a little disappointed, but… no, I'm not angry with you." There followed a somewhat awkward pause. "So… how is everyone else? Not too upset with me, I hope?"

"Oh… oh, no, we're all fine. I mean, we were upset that you didn't say goodbye, but Buffy explained it to us."

"Has she sorted everything out with Spike?"

"I don't know. Neither of them are back yet."

"What?" Willow explained what had happened, and that Buffy and Spike had yet to reappear from wherever it was they'd gone.

  
  


Slayer and vampire, still hand-in-hand, came to a halt at the bottom of the driveway, and surveyed the house. Most of the lights were still on, at least downstairs, and Buffy could tell the television was on. She checked her watch - it was later than she'd realised. Spike looked worried; he'd wanted the place to be quiet, the Scoobies to be asleep, so they didn't have to explain themselves to four pairs of curious eyes. They stood there for a good five minutes, trying to muster the courage to take the final few steps to the door.

"Isn't this crazy?" asked Buffy, somewhat rhetorically. "I've been killing vampires for seven years; I've stopped too many apocalypses to count; I've just been through probably the most terrifying conversation of my entire life… but I'm too scared to go in there and tell my friends we're together."

Spike looked down at her. "That makes two of us, love…"

She tore her gaze from the door and smiled up at him. "Well, I knew you were crazy," she joked. She shook her head at herself. "Oh, I don't know. I don't think they'd have a problem with it any more, but… but I'm just worried. And even if they _are_ okay with it, I'm not sure I want to share you with an entire house of Scoobies and my sister just yet."

"Are you reading my mind, now?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Y'know, it _really_ wouldn't surprise me."

They stared at the front door a while longer. Shadows moved within the house, the glare of the television occasionally casting flickers of light through the curtains. Spike looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, "Another stroll around the block, then?"

"God, yes…"

  
  


Willow put down the receiver with an air of contented relief, but she still didn't feel much better. Giles had accepted her apology and her explanation, but even over the 'phone it seemed too impersonal. There was nothing she could do about it now, however, so she conceded to let it lie until she saw him in person. With a sigh, she went back into the kitchen, sitting at the island and staring at nothing in particular. By comparison to only a few weeks ago, she was feeling miles better, but she knew that there were still problems for everyone to work through. Xander and Anya, in particular, hadn't quite sorted everything out between them; although Willow herself knew that Tara was in a far better place now, it didn't stop her missing her like Hell.

She was pulled from her rapidly sinking thoughts for a moment when she heard noise in the living room. A few seconds later, Xander emerged. She smiled weakly at him from her side of the island.

"Hey, Will. You okay?"

"Mm," she muttered. "Just thinkin'."

"You sure?"

She nodded a little absently. Xander started rooting in the fridge, looking for a drink, and Willow returned to her thoughts. She barely remembered any of the days before her Tara-provoked recovery; all of the events seemed to blur together, but a memory stirred of one particular, rainy morning. As her companion closed the fridge, she looked up. "Xander?"

"Yeah?"

"Is there enough stuff in there to make one of your Special Sandwiches?"

He smiled, and opened the door again. "Well, let's see…" He moved things around in there for a few seconds and then re-emerged. "There's enough for a Semi-Special Sandwich, if that'll do?"

"Sounds good. Sandwich me." She pointed at the space on the counter in front of her, firmly, to make her demand clear.

He let out a chuckle, retrieved the appropriate things from the fridge, and set about making Willow her sandwich. She seemed off, somehow, and not just because of Giles' letter. "What brought this on?"

"Oh, nothing," she muttered. "I was just thinking about everything that's happened. It seems so long ago, doesn't it?"

"That, it does," he said, hacking at a loaf of bread with a knife, pretending it was a manly saw. Once a carpenter, always a carpenter, it seemed. "I can't believe it was only a few weeks ago that you were…" He let it trail off, not entirely sure how to put it into words.

"Letting myself fade away," she finished for him. "I know. I don't really remember it that well, you know? Everything's blurry, like it never really happened…"

"You're the lucky one, then," he said, partially to himself, as he returned to the refrigerator to find the mayonnaise. Trying to change the subject, he commented, "Y'know, I'm going to talk to Buffy about the organisation of this thing. I mean, blood bags and mayo on the same shelf? Not fun."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, it's gotta be unhygienic. Not to mention icky-"

"No, not that," she explained. "About me being lucky." He didn't answer, merely poked absently at one of the afore-complained-about blood bags and watched it ripple. "Xander…"

Her tone was warning, and he decided he'd better answer her. The door closed; he turned, and set about spreading the mayo thickly on the bread, avoiding her gaze completely. "You may not remember it, Will, but I do. I think I'll remember it for the rest of my damn life." He sighed, putting the mayonnaise-covered knife down for a moment and reaching for some sliced meat. He hacked it neatly in half with the bread knife, apparently for effect rather than functionality, punctuating his words. "It was Hell. I was… I was so scared. I didn't know what I was doing, how to help you, if I was even making any difference… and I couldn't even ask for anyone's help, because you trusted me so much." Sliced meat now thoroughly chopped, he set up a rhythm of sandwich-building: meat; mayo; meat; mayo. "All I kept thinking was, 'what if I make it worse?' 'What if nothing changes, and we're stuck like this for the rest of our lives?' 'How am I supposed to save my best friend from herself?' You expected me to be strong for you, Willow, and I could barely even be strong for myself."

The final piece of bread completed the sandwich, but he made no move to give it to her, nor did she attempt to take it. Xander stared diligently at the counter top, well aware of the penetrating stare Willow was giving him, and trying to pluck up the courage to look her in the eye. "If it was so difficult," she asked, "why didn't you tell Giles?"

He shrugged. Finally, he raised his head. She looked troubled, and curious. "I don't know. It's not like I didn't think about it; there wasn't a day went by when I wasn't ready to give up and call in the British cavalry."

"Yeah," she prodded, "but you didn't. Why?"

"Because I thought that I could save you the same way I'd saved the entire world," he said. "With love. I thought it would be enough." He sighed; it was time for the entire truth to out, now he'd started. "I love yellow-crayon-breaky Willow; I love scary-veiny Willow… but I just couldn't make myself love doesn't-want-to-survive Willow, and I knew it was wrong… and how was I meant to save you when there was nothing left of you that I even recognised?"

Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she didn't let them fall. "I'm sorry…"

He waved off the apology with his hand, implying it wasn't her fault. "Oh, it wasn't you… It was me, I… I just couldn't handle it. And anyway, it doesn't matter now, because you're all better… no thanks to useless Xander."

He moved to put the mayonnaise away; when he turned back from the fridge, Willow was standing up. Before he could say anything else, she hugged him; it didn't take long for him to hug her back. "God, Xander… I had no idea…" She pulled out of their embrace so she could see him. "And, yeah, I'm all better. And you know why? Because of _you_, dummy." She punctuated this by poking him. "Because no matter how much I wanted to die and make everything go vamoose, I couldn't do that to you, or to anyone else." She settled back into his arms again, comfortably. "Everything you did… You were great."

"You're just sayin' that," he said, partly in self-deprecatory jest.

"No, I mean it," she assured him. "You caught me when I fell, and… helped me up when I… fell, and… okay, I'm really bad at analogies, but you know what I'm getting at."

He gave her a squeeze. He still didn't quite believe her, and was certain there must have been some other factor in her sudden burst towards recovery, but she clearly wanted him to believe it had been entirely his doing. He knew he'd done some good, despite her exaggeration, and that was enough. He looked over her shoulder at the counter, something suddenly occurring to him. "Your, uh, sandwich is dissolving…"

She giggled, pulling away from him. "That's another thing. You made me soggy towers of bread when I was hungry." She turned and started to walk back to the barstool she'd been sitting on before, but Xander reached for her hand and stopped her for a moment.

"Um. Just so you know," he said, reaching up the other hand to her cheek, "I love bad-at-analogies Willow, too."

Just as she was about to reply, another voice sounded from the doorway. "Oh, isn't this nice? You go into the kitchen to get a snack, and then I find you with _her_, making with the hugging and the confessions!"

"Anya…" He let go of Willow, who backed off, embarrassed, and headed towards his vengeance demon almost-a-girlfriend-again. "This sounds like the worst line ever, but it isn't what it looks like."

"Oh, sure it's not. I always knew you preferred her to me, Xander." She didn't sound very impressed, but a part of her tone implied that she wondered why it bothered her in the first place.

"No, Anya, seriously," said Willow, "it's really not what it looks like. We were just talking about everything that happened." One glare from the brunette in the doorway made her stop talking. "I'll… I'll let you talk. Sorry…" She collected her snack, and left them to it.

"Come on, Harris," demanded Anya, harshly, as she folded her arms, "I want an explanation, and I want the truth. No excuses."

He'd had quite enough of emotional women for one day, in one way or another, and Anya's jealousy was the last thing he needed. "Fine. You want the truth? I love Willow. There."

She hadn't been expecting that; rather, she'd anticipated a lengthy ramble on how she'd gotten it all wrong, whereby Xander dug himself into a hole. She hadn't expected the truth to be so… well, truthful. The tirade she'd been planning stopped in its tracks, leaving her momentarily speechless. "Oh. I…"

"For God's sake, Anya. Open your eyes, would you?" He lightened his tone a little, since yelling at her wasn't going to solve anything. "She's my best friend; she has been since we were both… knee-high to a fear demon…" Anya's pose became less defensive, her expression saying 'oh' as he continued. "So, yes, I love her. Just like I love Buffy, and Dawny, and Giles, and… okay, I won't go so far as to add Spike to the list, but you know what I mean."

She nodded, slowly. Her expression changed, looking oddly fearful. "But what about me?"

Xander blinked. He thought it was obvious, but then, he forgot that Anya needed things spelt out at the best of times. They'd been through enough arguments and hurt for one year, and it was time to set things right. In one swift movement, he approached her, lifted her head with one hand, and kissed her thoroughly.

Seconds later, it was over, and Anya was staring at him in mild shock. "Does that answer your question?"

She recovered her senses a little, looked momentarily ponderous, and then kissed him back.

"Hey, guys, Buffy and Spike are back, so if you wanna… oh, sorry!" It was Dawn, entering, looking up, and then swiftly making her exit again. The two of them mutually and silently agreed to finish this particular activity at a later date when they couldn't get interrupted. Right now, they needed to find out whatever had happened between the Slayer and Spike.

  
  


They stood near the front door and waited until everyone was sitting comfortably. _Then I'll begin_, thought Buffy to herself, semi-comically. Dawn came back from the kitchen looking embarrassed, but with a large grin on her face, and stood near the door. Xander and Anya followed, both seeming flushed. Buffy couldn't help the smile emerging when she realised why, and nor, apparently, could Spike; beside her, he squeezed her hand, and whispered, "And you were worried about us? Looks like someone else has some explaining to do, too…"

She took a deep breath, and finally entered the living room. Silence descended while she tried to find the right words to explain everything. Finally, Dawn broke through it in her own particular way.

"Well? What happened?"

"I, uh… I found him," she pointed out, unnecessarily, buying herself some time.

"Duh." Oddly enough, that was Willow, still munching through her sandwich. "Where was he?"

"The Bronze. Long story. But anyway… we… we had a good, long talk about things, went through all the appropriate apologies, forgivings, and hysterical crying, and finally came to an agreement." Spike raised an eyebrow at her somewhat clinical explanation, but allowed her to continue. Her smile gave it away before she did. "Spike and I are… well, we just are. I know you guys all pretty much figured that out before I did, but…" She trailed off, catching Spike's eye. "He loves me, and it took me too long to realise he meant it. It took me even longer to figure out that I love him, too."

She waited for her friends' reactions. The next thing she knew, Dawn had squealed loudly and bounded over to latch onto her sister in a bear hug before swiftly moving on to Spike, crushing them both equally. "Thank God," she enthused. "I thought you'd never figure it out."

Xander smiled from across the room. "Congratulations, you guys. It probably pales in comparison to what you two just went through, but Anya and I are sorta back together now, too. At least, I hope we are…" He gave Anya a questioning look.

"We are," she confirmed. "And I'm glad you sorted it out, Spike." The vampire gave her a grateful, knowing smile. After their two discussions, he felt a little closer to her. He realised that, eventually, he'd end up a fully fledged member of the Scoobies.

Willow rose from the couch and gave Buffy a hug. "I'm so happy for you, Buffy," she said. "You, too, Spike." Hugging Spike proved problematic since he was still attached to Dawn, who didn't look set to let go any time soon. "Tell you what, you two, I'll move out of Joyce's old room, and-"

"Whoa, there, Red," interrupted Spike, speaking for the first time since entering the room. "Let's not think too far ahead, now."

Buffy pouted (as did her sister) and looked at him with her best kicked-puppy expression. "You don't want to stay here?"

"I didn't say that… I just…" He trailed off, all coherent explanations going swiftly out of the nearest window at the sight of Buffy's pouty-face. Her sister's face was in a similar expression; when faced with two pouty Summers women, Spike was outnumbered. He sighed, and continued, quietly, "I didn't think you'd want me to stay, at least, not yet."

"Spike, I let you stay _before_ there was a future in this," pointed out Buffy. "Why do you think I'd make you leave?"

He managed to prise Dawn off him and indicate that she should give them a moment of private time; she complied, taking Willow with her, while Spike led Buffy into the dining room where they could talk. "I… I thought you'd want to take everything slow, this time. No rushin' in like maniacs or anything."

"I do," she said. "But I don't want you living in that damp old crypt, and anyway, I think you'll have a tough time getting Clem to move out."

"Of course I'll stay, love," he said. "But there's no need to move everyone around for my sake. I'm perfectly fine in the basem-"

"You even finish that sentence and I'll…" She stopped herself, taking a deep breath. He was putting on a gentlemanly front, trying to do the right thing, and she could see straight through it. "Spike. You have nothing to worry about, okay? Just because we made mistakes in the past doesn't mean we're going to make them again. We'll move everyone around - Willow can have Dawn's room, she can have mine, we'll have Mom's old room. Besides, it's time for a change, for everyone. There's no point making a fresh start when the surroundings have so many bad memories."

"You're right." Buffy smiled up at him. Just as she was about to go back into the lounge, he added, "But when we've moved everything around, I'm putting that cot on the floor."

"Spike-"

"Please, Buffy. Just until I get my head sorted again…" His eyes pleaded with her. "I don't want anything to happen that might ruin this."

She could tell he was really worried about things, and conceded. "All right…"

They headed back to the others, who were chatting amongst themselves. Willow looked up first, and gave them a questioning expression. "So? Are we moving rooms?"

"Yes," said Buffy. "We're moving rooms. Dawn, you get my old room, Willow, you get Dawn's, if that's okay."

"Sure," she said. "That double room was starting to feel really… empty. And every time I see the window, I remember what happened…"

"See, Spike? A fresh start. For everyone." He nodded.

Anya spoke up. "Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you that I've decided to let Xander move back in. It's his apartment, anyway. I have no idea how the air conditioning works and it was starting to get really stuffy in there."

"Gee, thanks, An," he joked. "You invite me back and the place smells of…" Several warning glances stopped him finishing the thought. "Of… a very smelly thing. But it'll be nice to be back."

"And talking of which," added Buffy, "I think I need a shower and to sleep off this jetlag." She yawned, suddenly realising she was very tired. The drawn-out conversation with Spike hadn't helped matters much, either. "And you guys all look as though you could use some sleep, too."

Willow and Dawn nodded. Spike went to the bottom of the stairs and picked up Buffy's case, which still sat where she'd dumped it on her arrival since nobody else could lift it. "I'll sort your stuff out, pet," he said.

"Thanks," she called after him, as he disappeared upstairs. "Xander, I'd offer to let you and Anya stay the night, but… you look like you've got some unfinished business to attend to."

Xander, to his credit, had the decency to blush. Anya, of course, didn't. "Yes. We need to go home and have lots of make up sex." Off Dawn's sniggering, she added an afterthought of: "Which I realise is sharing too much, but it's not like you didn't all know anyway."

She found herself being swiftly dragged away by Xander. Buffy stood aside so they could reach the front door. "Have fun, you guys…" She shook her head at them. It had been a long time since they'd all had to cope with Xander and Anya's sexcapades, and she hadn't realised how much she'd actually _missed_ it. She closed the door as Xander drove off, smiled at her sister and Willow, and started to head upstairs.

"Oh, Buffy, hang on a sec!" It was Willow, picking something up from the end of the couch. Buffy came back into the room, a questioning expression on her face. The red-head handed her something. "I-it's from Giles. For Spike. It was in the bundle with everyone else's letters, but we didn't read it out." She shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "Well, not all of it, anyway…"

Buffy laughed. "It's okay; I'm sure he won't mind. I'll take it up to him." At the bottom of the stairs again, she turned back. "Oh, and… I'm sorry about the party. You guys must've worked so hard to get it all ready and I just gave you bad news and ran off…" Willow waved a hand dismissively. "We can party tomorrow. I mean, hey, saved the world again. That's gotta be another reason to celebrate, right?"

"Right!"

"G'night, you two."

"Night."

  
  


Up in Buffy's room, Spike was putting her various packed items away again without really thinking about it. It provided his body with something to do while he mulled over the evening they'd just had. It still hadn't quite sunk in, properly. Some part of him was still expecting it to be a dream, that he was asleep in the cave, still, slowly dying of starvation, that this was some trick of his subconscious so he'd at least starve to death happy. Then again, he was pretty sure he wouldn't have dreamt about Xander attacking him, or about nearly losing Buffy. The various wounds from his trials - and from the fight with Xander - were also still stinging and aching a little.

_Gotta be real, then_, he thought. That was something, at least. Only then he started worrying that she'd take back everything she'd said. Oh, it had all sounded truthful enough, and he was pretty sure it had come from the heart… but like it or not, he was still a vampire, and he and Buffy both knew it couldn't last. Sooner or later she'd get broody - in the female maternal way, not the having-a-soul way - and… It didn't bear thinking about. It was one issue that no amount of talking would fix.

His rambling thoughts stopped briefly as he heard her coming up the stairs. It wouldn't do for her to find him in here being miserable, so he swiftly brought himself back to the present, and only the immediately foreseeable future. By the time she appeared in the doorway, he looked as happy as he could.

"You didn't have to do that, Spike," she said. He shrugged, putting away another of her sweaters. The image might have been amusing, except that she could sense something was bothering him. His demeanour was off, not as relaxed and happy as it had been earlier. "Is something wrong?"

_Damn._ He looked up from rooting through the suitcase, and attempted to appear nonchalant. "No, pet."

She entered the room, trying not to look worried. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Just thinking about things…"

She wasn't buying it, but she was too exhausted now to try and talk it through, so she just nodded in acceptance of his excuse. She grabbed her bathrobe off the back of the door and draped it over her arm. "Before I forget, Willow just gave me this." She handed him the letter; he took it, curiously. "It's from Giles."

"Giles?" And then, Buffy realised she hadn't told him about it, mainly because he hadn't asked, and hadn't noticed Giles' absence in the house when they arrived. "That's a point, love. Where is that ex-Watcher of yours?"

"He stayed in England."

"What?"

She rested a hand on his arm before he could flip out over it. "It's okay. Honest. We said goodbye properly, and I didn't hit him… at least, I don't think I did. I probably should'a done…" Realising she was rambling, she shook her head. "Anyway. He wrote to everyone, and that one's yours."

"Oh, right…"

"Don't look so worried. Giles is Mister Accept-y, now." Spike relaxed a little, and put the letter to one side for reading when he'd finished attending to Buffy's things. She watched him a moment, amused; when he gave her a questioning expression, she said, "If you're not careful, I'm going to make you bring me breakfast in bed. Or maybe do the housework… run Dawn to school… ooh, and I'm pretty sure the windows haven't been cleaned in-"

"Much as that all sounds… appealing," he said, with a small smile, "isn't that somewhat abusing the "do-anything-for-you" clause?"

"What, you think I'm going to let you stay here if you don't pull your weight?"

His expression changed, looking momentarily worried. "Oh. Well. Um, obviously…"

"Spike. I'm kidding." He breathed a sigh of relief, as Buffy stifled her laugh. She spotted her bathrobe over her arm, and, remembering why she'd even come into the room in the first place, headed for the door again. "I'm going to take a shower." Spike opened his mouth to say something, his eyes wide and filled with instantaneous remorse that he couldn't stop. He seemed ready to bolt for the stairs. Buffy rolled her eyes. "And if you even _think_ about running out on me, Spike, I swear I'm going to track you down and chain you in that damn bathroom until you realise that there's nothing to worry about any more." As an afterthought, she muttered, "In fact, I may just do it anyway…"

"I'm not going," he said, calming a little. "Just fight or flight, you know?"

"In that case," she said, reassuringly, "flight is not an option. And at some point, we're going to work through this. Together." She put the robe on the floor for a moment and walked over to him, wrapping both arms around his waist. He returned the gesture, resting his chin on top of her head, and they stood there in silence for a moment until she pulled back a little to look at him. She spoke more softly, seriously. "Whatever it is that scares you, whatever it is that you keep telling yourself is wrong, I'll try get rid of it. But I can't do it on my own, Spike. I need you to work with me, okay?"

He looked down at her, realising she was being completely sincere about it. All of his previous doubts fled from his mind, for a moment. "Think I can manage that…"

"Good."

She kissed him, short and sweet, and let him go. Spike watched her leave, and listened as she headed down the landing to the bathroom, noting as the door closed that she didn't lock it after her. He remained calm for all of fifteen seconds before the memories came flooding back, unheeded, and he locked himself in her room rather than wait to be locked out of the bathroom. It would also stop anyone coming in and seeing him in his unwanted moment of weakness.

He sat on the bed, next to her opened and semi-unpacked case, and put his head in his hands, waiting for the mental images to stop. It wasn't as painful as it used to be, back when he first got the soul, but it hurt nonetheless. All he could see, all he could hear, was Buffy, crying out, trying to stop him, fighting back…

"No…" he muttered. "Not again…" It didn't work; the images kept coming. Now he was flying through the air from the impact of her kick to his stomach, colliding with the wall, clarity hitting him on impact. He was looking at Buffy through new, saner eyes, as she looked back at him with that look of hurt and betrayal. He knew the words that were coming; he'd heard them in his nightmares for weeks…

_'I forgive you…'_

Spike blinked to himself, surprised, and looked around the room in shock. The door was still locked; Buffy was still in the bathroom, oblivious to his plight. Gone was the image of the terrified Buffy who he'd pushed too far, and in her place was the Buffy of earlier that night, illuminated by moonlight as she made her series of tearful confessions.

_'I love you.'_

And then he knew. He knew it would all be fine. He straightened up, and set back to the task in hand - putting away Buffy's things and sorting out what needed washing. Getting up, he noted with some amusement what he was doing, and what everyone would think of him now - the Big Bad, sorting the Slayer's clothes. The letter from Giles lay momentarily forgotten on the end of the bed, as an idea began to form in his brain.

  
_Several minutes later…_

  
Buffy gathered up the clothes she'd travelled in as she left the bathroom, wondering briefly if she should attempt to brush her hair, then realising that Spike probably wouldn't care. She noticed the closed door of her room, but didn't think anything of it until she tried to open it, and discovered it locked. She knocked.

"Spike? You okay in there?"

"Yeah," came the muffled reply. "Just… you'll see. Hang on a sec."

"I'm hanging," she called back. _If you've moved anything, you're dust_, she thought to herself. _Or possibly just bruised_. She whistled, tapping her foot impatiently while she waited. After a few minutes, she heard the door unlock. "Can I come in now?" she asked, as Spike appeared in the doorway.

"Yes. But you have to close your eyes first." She sighed, but did as instructed. Spike took the pile of clothes from her, silently, and led her inside the room. They came to a stop. "Right. Open them."

When she did, they filled with tears two seconds later. The room, far from being reorganised, had been tidied - everything in the case was put away, everything that needed cleaning had been put into the laundry basket, and the case itself stowed tidily under the bed. Everything on her dresser was organised by colour - just how long _had_ she been in that shower, anyway? - and he'd opened the window to freshen the room a little. It was lit by a single lamp on the bedside table; there was a clean pair of pyjamas folded up on the sheet, and the bedclothes had been turned back.

She blinked back the tears, and looked at Spike, who was now shifting rather uncomfortably, unsure how his gesture would be received. "Spike… you didn't need to do this."

He shrugged. "Got bored."

"Got bored, my ass," she said, smiling. "But thank you."

He smiled back. "Well, all that tidying's made me hungry. I'll just pop to the kitchen; you want anything?"

"No, I'm good…"

Spike nodded, and left Buffy to get changed. Downstairs in the kitchen, he nuked himself a mug of O-negative - an old memory of a very smiley Slayer, under the influence of Willow's magic, bringing him one at "Ninety-eight point six", made him smile - and then, as an afterthought, made her a cup of cocoa. Knowing Buffy, she'd change her mind as soon as he came back, so it was better to be prepared. When both drinks were done, he went back upstairs.

She was snuggled under the covers by the time he got back, sitting up. "Brought you something anyway," he said, handing her the mug.

"Thanks." She took a sip. Then, she noticed that Giles' letter still sat on the end of the bed. "So, what did Giles have to say to you?"

"Huh?"

"The letter… you did read it, right?"

"Completely forgot…"

She reached for it, and indicated for him to sit down on the edge of the bed. "Well, now's your chance." He obliged, sitting angled towards her, slightly, and took the proffered letter from her outstretched hand. He hesitated, looking at it nervously for a moment. "Come on, I'm curious…" He unfolded it with a roll of his eyes, and started to read it in his head. Buffy interrupted after he'd read a few lines. "Could you read it out?" she asked. "I mean, unless it's really personal…"

"It's not," he said. "I'll read it." He cleared his throat.

_"Dear Spike,_

"My word, I never thought I'd use those two words in the same sentence. Although, then again, I never thought I'd be writing to you along with the others, so I suppose this is unusual in itself. Anyway, I won't ramble on. I'm sure Buffy's told you already that I've decided to stay in England, and while I don't have to justify or defend myself to you - at least, not as much as I do to everyone else - I do want to take this opportunity to say a few words.

"When Buffy told me everything that had happened, I'm sure you can appreciate that I wasn't particularly pleased. I didn't like the situation with you, I loathed what you'd tried to do to her, and I couldn't - or, perhaps, wouldn't - understand how she could forgive you. And, yes, I admit, I didn't believe you loved her, either. But things have changed; you proved yourself that night by offering to absorb the magic in her place, and by looking after her. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind now that you do love her.

"Buffy has always been headstrong, but she's also always known what is best for herself, and has proven me wrong on that count several times. She's also as stubborn as a mule, and I knew that no amount of discussion would bring her around on this matter. She doesn't give her love away easily, either; so far, you're the only one who's even come close to understanding that. I don't know fully what happened that night after the meeting - she hasn't told me - but I do know that it made her realise what she wanted. We've never exactly been on friendly terms, but trust me when I tell you this: she loves you. If she hasn't told you already, give her time. She will."

He stopped a moment, and looked at Buffy. She was listening intently; that's when he realised he'd lapsed back into his old accent, unconsciously mimicking Giles in some way. When she noticed he'd stopped, she said, "Nice to know he has such faith in my ability to tell you, huh?" Spike smirked at her.

"Do you want the rest or not?" he asked, immediately reverting to his usual voice.

"Of course… and go back to that accent," she added. "I like it."

Spike smiled, and continued.

_"It's not up to me to protect her any more. She and all the others need to learn to live without me. Nevertheless, I do feel obligated to her, and while it's hardly my place to do so, I'm entrusting her to your protection, Spike. Which is not to say that she needs protection, of course, but you know what I mean, I'm sure. However, don't get me wrong; you haven't earned my full trust, just yet. I do trust you not to harm her again; soul or no soul, chip or no chip, I think you're inherently a good person. If Buffy can see that in you, then so can I, for her sake._

"I'm rambling, aren't I?

"I suppose there's nothing else to say, really. Just that I ask of you one thing: please, make her happy. She deserves it.

"Giles."

"That's it, pet." He folded it back up and placed it on the bedside table. "Pretty strong words, coming from him."

"Yeah." She looked thoughtful a moment. "God, I miss him already. Remind me to call him. Soon."

"When you do, tell him the vote of confidence is appreciated." As an afterthought, he added, "Only, make it sound, y'know, nonchalant. I got a reputation to uphold, y'know."

"I know, Spike…"

A sudden awkwardness descended on the room. "Anyway. You look beat. Get some rest, and I'll… see you in the morning." He got up, making to go back to the basement. He got as far as the door, when Buffy's voice filtered across from her bed, sounding slightly hurt. He didn't need to turn to know she was pulling the pouty face on him again.

"You're not going to stay with me?"

He turned; he was right; there was the bottom lip, sticking out. "Well… I…" He tried to talk his way out of it, but he was powerless to resist that face. "Are you sure?"

Buffy pulled back the covers, and shuffled over slightly. "Yes. Please, Spike… I just… I just want you to hold me…"

She suddenly seemed very fragile. After everything they'd all been through recently, he wasn't surprised. There'd been equal amounts of heartache all around, and a life-threatening situation to boot, and Buffy had been in the centre of all of it. She needed his comfort, his strength, needed to feel safe again now that everything was over, just like he still needed her to help put his head to rights.

He went back over to her, and sat on the bed again, removing his boots a little ponderously, waiting for her to change her mind. Nothing came. She reached out for his arm; he placed his hand over hers where it rested, and held it for a moment. The suspicion that it was all a dream still hadn't quite shifted, but he was beginning to believe it. And if it was a dream, well, heck, he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

He settled next to her, cautiously, and pulled the covers back over the both of them. Buffy snuggled into his arms, yawning as she let herself relax. Everything was going to be fine, now. They'd all survived, recovered, and made up. Okay, so she'd lost Giles to his mother country, but they'd parted on decent terms, and with a mutual understanding. Lying there, feeling protected for the first time in what felt like years, all Buffy wanted to think about was going to sleep.

"Light…" she mumbled, against his chest. He reached over to turn it off and shrouded the room in moonlight. It was silent. In the dark, she listened to the sounds outside. A dog howled in a nearby garden; crickets chirped; a cat let out a yowl somewhere. Only this time, she wasn't dreaming, and Spike didn't appear at her window, only to vanish again. He was right there, keeping her safe, murmuring incoherent, loving nothingness because he thought she was asleep, just like he'd done before, all those months ago. Except now, she cared enough to listen.

She let him ramble a while. It had been so long, and she'd missed the sound of his voice. Eventually, he ran out of things to say, or perhaps decided to wait until he could say them to her properly. She shifted position slightly to wrap an arm around his waist. She felt him kiss the top of her head.

Sleep was already threatening to take over; before blissful unconsciousness claimed her, though, she managed to let out a muffled, "Love you, Spike…"

He replied with the words he never thought he'd get to say. "Love you, too, Buffy…"

She slept. Several hours later, after watching her all night, so did Spike. The dawn of a brand new day began, and Sunnydale became bathed in morning sunlight. Sooner or later, there'd be something else trying to end the world; one or more of them would have their life threatened again. Only now… it didn't seem quite so hopeless.

_To be… wait, what am I saying?_

**THE END!**

A/N: Jesus. Frelling. Christ. It's finally bloody over. Eleven wasted months of my life, 156 pages, 101,537 words (that's without author's notes…) and 915KB, and it's finally over. And, yeah, I suck at endings. Always have, always will, so deal with it. That's why I like cliffies so much :D

"Hey, party in my eye socket and everyone's invited!"

*jumps up and down* Seriously, you have no. bloody. idea. how happy I am that this is over and done with. I was beginning to think it would never end - and while I'm sure some of you would rather it did go on forever, I have other projects to work on. In fact, now that this is finished, my partner in insanity, Cyril, and I can start out upcoming Crossover of Doom (it'll be Buffy and Farscape-centric, with guest appearances from the Discworld, Harry Potter, Angel, and Nethack, amongst others. Possibly some Star Trek, too. Whatever, it'll be completely mad and very, very silly, and will probably be posted either here or under Buffy crossovers. Look out for it!) I can also finish my "Phantom of the Opera" chapter fic, too, as well as various others.

Of course, having said that, you just KNOW I'm going to come up with something for after season 7, and I'll be stuck in Buffydom for another eleven months ;)

Anyway. Acknowledgements in the next chapter, and some lengthy author's notes that you don't have to read, but might prove interesting if you're very bored. Make me proud, people. Review, then go to the bar and have a celebratory cocktail. We've earned it =) 


	31. Final Notes

Dear followers of "Cradle",

Although the fic is now over (I know, I can barely believe it myself), please permit me this final chapter to offer gratitude, gushing, and something resembling an explanation.  A critical essay, if you will, on how and why this monstrosity… um, I mean, epic came about.

This is the DVD extras section.  Only you don't have to pay extra for it, and it plays on all-region players ;)

Firstly:

Acknowledgements

Many thanks, of course, to absolutely everyone out there who reviewed – there are too many of you to thank individually – both here on fanfic.net and via email.  The positive feedback has been overwhelming, to say the least, and the slightly more negative feedback has been helpful in making me actually think about things.  However, special thanks go to all of the following:

~kmoody, for being the first to offer decent, critical, constructive comments, and for enrolling me so nicely into the Buffyfic community.

~ Darryl J, for the lengthy reviews (that I always look forward to), the constant, torturous poking, and for 'getting it' before I'd even told him what 'it' was (more on that later.)

~ Firelily, for bugging me endlessly to finish.

~ Cyril, who, despite a decided lack of reviews *pointed stare* has been helpful and wonderful throughout.  Yes, even when complaining about the fluff.

~ all the other fabulous reviewers out there too numerous to mention, and anyone who read without reviewing, I LOVE YOU ALL!  Although I love the non-reviewers slightly less.

Special acknowledgements must go out to the following people, even though the likelihood of them reading this is very slim (but, hey, I can dream):

~ Joss and co., for creating them in the first place

~ Sarah, James, Alyson, Nicholas, Emma, Michelle, Amber, Anthony, and anyone else, for playing them all and aiding my hallucinations

~ and an extra special thank you to James, in particular, for just being utterly fabulous and one HECK of a cuddler.

The How and Why 

Okay, you've sat through all thirty chapters of angst, fluff, and catfights, and for that, I commend you, especially those who stuck with this from the start.  You have stamina, I'll give you that much.  But I thought I'd better explain just how this thing came about.  I'm an English geek, and I have a desperate urge to explain myself at every turn.  Deal.

When I started this, I did not, in any way, anticipate it becoming the bloody huge thing it is now.  In fact, it was meant to be a short fic, and the only reason I wrote it at all was as an excuse for shameless fluffy Spuffy.  Believe it or not, it all stemmed from a dream.  Yes, a dream.  No, I do not dream entire episode-length adventures in my head.  My dreams are bizarre at best, and when they're not, they're sporadic and unconnected.  This particular dream was all about Spike and Willow, who, both on the rebound, ended up together through comfort, thereby making Buffy jealous.  That's what I _think_ it was about, anyway… it was so vague, I can barely remember it.

It got me thinking.  I started wondering how I could turn it into a fic, and decided it might, actually, possibly, if I tried hard enough, work.  The problem is, I have a Fix-It Complex: when writers leave us in a mess, I need to clean it up.  And thus, I had to get Spike back from Africa before I could do _anything_.  I got that semi-sorted in chapter one – Spike argues with shaman, shaman offers Spike a deal.  Hurrah.  We're in business.  Only this was when I realised I could suddenly write the characters (my last attempt at a Buffyfic being somewhat dire) and so, on I went to fix all the other problems Joss had left us with while I was at it.

Bad idea.

That's when I realised it was going to need chapters, and thank God I did, otherwise it would probably never have gotten off the ground.  By default, it also needed a title.  I'm a sucker for one-word titles, especially when they encompass a lengthy story and most of its themes.  I was, however, at a loss, and since I didn't even have much of a plot figured out, either, I just thought of something provisionally.  The title, "Cradle", merely came out because I thought, "what's the opposite of 'Grave', anyway?"  Voila.  The title.

I was fully anticipating having to change it at some point, only then I got thinking some more (hey, it was a long summer, and Sky One were showing continual daily repeats of Season 4…)  Cradle à birth à rebirth à THEME!

And, amazingly enough, my theme not only worked with what I had already (then, approximately three chapters), but did so _continually_, right through to the end of the fic.  In some places, it was deliberate; in others, less so, making me pleasantly surprised on re-reading…  If anyone missed it (or for those who didn't, and wants to know if they were right), here's a basic list of that theme, broken down into characters and relationships.

_Buffy_ – her 'rebirth' begins almost immediately, and happens in three stages: admitted her feelings to herself, to the Scoobies (specifically, Giles), and to Spike.  Also, to a lesser degree, there's the whole incident with the magic and going to England, where she sorts out her head a little.

_Spike_ – he gains a soul, and begins his own process of rebirth.  He turns his life around for Buffy, and becomes accepted by the Scoobies.  He still has a way to go, though.  There's still the bathroom thing for him to get over.

_Giles_ – his role as 'the adult' causes him to eventually realise that he's not needed at all, and he starts over in England.  It seemed like the coward's way out not saying goodbye to the Scoobs, I know, but by saying goodbye, he'd be tying himself to them ever more permanently.  By leaving in silence, he's just starting over, and so are they.  Which probably makes more sense in my head, but it's 1.40am here, so gimme a break ;)

_Xander_ – his responsibility for Willow's well-being helps him to come to terms with his own life.  The attack on Spike was uncalled-for, I realise, but he came out of it a better person.  Sometimes, we have to go a little crazy before we can go sane.

_Willow_ – she goes through several rebirths.  Tara's first visitation is what provokes her to survive and pulls her back to Earth from whatever dark, desperate place she'd put herself in.  By purging the magic, and losing her own, she emptied herself of everything bad, and then Tara's donation of her own powers is what brings back the good in her.

_Anya_ – she reintegrates into the gang, and makes up with Xander.  On a more physical, literal level, her livlihood – the magic shop – is being rebuilt.

_Dawn – _okay, you got me.  Not my most favourite character.  But even Dawn gets somewhat reborn in this, training as Slayer the Second.

_Tara_ – it would have been easy – too easy – to just resurrect her in this, considering the theme, but I didn't.  It would've been too much, too soon, and also far too cheesy.  Instead, she is reborn in spirit form in the mirror dimension, and through donating her powers to Willow.  Some part of Tara lives on.

_Buffy/Spike_ – my central relationship.  Whoa, long journey, huh?  But, as you probably noticed, their relationship is starting again, from scratch, and will proceed at a normal pace.  And this time, it's based not on lust and hurt, but basic and requited love, on either side.  Personally, I'd say that's a far healthier relationship, wouldn't you?  There's only one remaining issue – trust.  Buffy hasn't explicitly told Spike that she trusts him.  And that's where "Cold Trust" comes in.  Go read it.  Go on.  Just click on that little author name up there…

_Buffy/Giles_ – my secondary 'ship of choice, explained (I hope) via Giles' feelings in chapter 25.  They are reborn, not as Slayer/Watcher, not as substitute father/daughter, not even as lovers, but as friends.  There's mutual respect, and mutual need; the miles between them will probably actually strengthen the bond.

_Xander/Anya_ – they've still got a long way to go, but, just like Buffy and Spike, are going to start over.  I debated for a while over whether to make this X/A friendly, or G/A friendly; it became X/A purely because it was easier for me to write.  I've never been a G/A shipper, and it didn't gel with what I was trying to do for B/G.  But anyway, I think it worked =)

_Willow/Tara_ – Willow has accepted and mourned Tara's death.  Now that she knows Tara is in a better place, she's ready to move on.  It's not so much a rebirth as an ending, but, as stated, a part of Tara will always be in Willow, and it's made her stronger for it.

_Xander/Willow_ – another of my 'ships of choice, but I had to tone it down and make it a friendship, playing on the end of "Grave".  Their close friendship has grown closer because of what they went through together, and they've accepted who the other is.  Their final conversation in chapter 30 has finally put Xander's fears throughout the ordeal to rest.

_Anya/Giles_ – again, not my 'ship of choice, and apologies to any A/G-ers that wanted me to try.  It's impossible to keep everyone happy, as Joss will probably tell you (re: "End of Days"…)  However, I do think Anya's worked through her crush – that's all I've ever really gotten from their interaction, even after "Tabula Rasa" – and appreciates his effort to get her back in the fold.

_Spike/Xander_ – you know, I had such fun with this one =)  Take a relationship based on intense mistrust and battling testosterone, and mess with it til it results in something intense.  The fight was the end of it.  I knew from the start that Xander was going to (almost) win it – on his end, it takes Spike down a peg or two, and on Spike's side, it puts Xander in a higher esteem.  I think they could almost be friends, one day…

_Spike/Anya – _well, I knew that "Entropy" thing couldn't go un-dealt with.  At first I was going to leave it at their conversation on patrol, but when Darryl complained, I realised he was right.  It wasn't good for them just to forget about it, because it _did_ happen for a reason.  These two have always been on fairly decent terms, I think, so I just went with it.  Mutual understanding.  Always good.  I can just see them in a few years, sharing stories about each other's relationships over beer…

_Spike/Willow_ – my plot premise.  And it occurred right in the middle of Chapter 17.  Yup, that was it.  The seedling that became the mighty tree was that one little scene with Spike comforting Willow.  Which isn't the point, I realise.  There wasn't much here to actually resurrect, as it were.  They've never been on bad terms, really.  I suppose they're slightly closer because of that moment.

There are, of course, others.  But I'll be here all bloody night if I go through every possible permutation, and I don't want to do all the work.  Feel free to re-read and analyse to your heart's content; maybe you'll spot things even I missed.  If you do, email me =)

So.  There you have it.  The story of "Cradle", its origins, its endings.  I hope you've enjoyed taking the journey with me, and I hope future readers will continue to enjoy it, albeit without the suspense of my horribly long gaps between updates =S  Thank you for your continued support.  This is the most amount of reviews I've received on record for a single fic!

And now for the obligatory self-plugging ;)

If you liked this, go and read the aforementioned "Cold Trust", and "Dawn's Prom Night", which are slightly lighter stories set in the post-"Cradle" timeline.  There's also "Electric Light", a Season 4 Spike-centric standalone.  Also, if anyone desperately wishes to read the first fic I ever wrote, it's on my website.  Go clicking and find it.  And soon, you can see the Crossover of Doom, provisionally entitled BuffyPotterNetDiscScape (that one's definitely going to change) – it's a melting pot of five fandoms, and probably a few more later on, set after my infamous "Farscape" fic, "That's MY Underwear!" – but I'm sure it'll make… some sense if you haven't read that one…

Anyway.  I shall now sign off, before I start gushing.

Au revoir 

T'eyla Minh


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